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Grace Dalrymple Elliott 
From the portrait by Cosway 


Journal of my life during the 
French Revolution 


Grace Dairy m pie Elliott 

With an Introduction and Notes 
Translated from the French by 

E. Jules Meras 

IWew l^or?? 


Copyright 1910 

Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1910 




Introduction /........ ...' i. >• • • • 9 

Preface to First Edition . . .. . ,.i ..... 19 

Outbreak of the Revolution . . . . .> .-. . .. . 29 


Conversations with the Duke of Orleans — Sketch of 
Marie- Antoinette — Unpopularity of the Duke of Or- 
leans with the Court — He visits England — The Neth- 
erland Revolutionists — My Passport stopped — Colonel 
Gardiner, English Minister at Brussels — Gross insult 
offered to the British Government — Interview with the 
Belgian Revolutionary Leaders — Infamous Conduct of 
Capuchin Priests — My Return to Paris — The Festi- 
val of the Federation at the Champ-de-Mars — Louis 
XVI. — Marie- Antoinette — Talleyrand — The Duke of 
Orleans daily drifting into the hands of the most violent 
Revolutionists — Conversations with the Duke — Marie- 
Antoinette visits my House and Gardens — Intrusted 
with a Commission b> Marie-Antoinette — The Cheva- 
liers du Poignard — A Leader wanted for the Royalists 47 


Conduct of Monsieur, since Louis XVIII. — Gentleness 
of Louis XVI. — Royal Family escape to Varennes — 




Brought back to Paris — Their brutal treatment by the 
Mob — Position of the Duke of Orleans — His disposi- 
tion — He joins the Army — The Mob break into the 
Tuileries, and insult the King — Marie-Antoinette's last 
appearance in public — The loth of August — My Flight 
to Meudon — Return to Paris — Adventures — Murder 
of the Swiss Guards — Extraordinary escape of Mar- 
quis de Chansenets 69 


The Princess Lamballe's Murder — Incidents in the Es- 
cape of the Marquis de Chansenets — My Adventures in 
aiding him — Domestic Spies — Terror during Domicil- 
iary Visit — Interview and Conversation with the Duke 
of Orleans — The Duke procures the escape of the 
Marquis to England 95 


The Murder of Louis XVI — The Duke of Orleans prom- 
ises not to vote — Visit of the Duke of Orleans and the 
Due de Biron to me — Conversation relative to the 
death of the King — The Duke of Orleans breaks his 
solemn promise — Anecdote of an attached Servant of 
the King — General Terror — My Illness ; the Duke 
sends to me — Anxious to get away to England — The 
Duke unable to assist me — I upbraid him for his con- 
duct in voting for the King's Death — His Defence — 
The Countess de Perigord's horror for her situation — 
Begs my aid to get away — Monsieur de Malesherbes — 
Another Domiciliary Visit — Madame de Perigord con- 
cealed in a Closet — Melancholy position of the Duke 
of Orleans — I am arrested 127 




Taken to the Guard-Room, where I pass the night — 
Walked between Soldiers to the Mairie to be examined 

— The Duchesse de Grammont and the Duchesse du 
Chatelet before the Mairie also — Their miserable Fate 

— Frightful Scenes at the Feuillants — Encounter the 
Duke of Orleans there — My examination and alarm — 
Brutality of Chabot, the Capuchin — Civility of Verg- 
niaud — Letter of Sir Godfrey Webster — I am allowed 
to depart, but stopped by Chabot — The Duke of Or- 
leans arrested, with the Comte de Beaujolais — Affect- 
ing Scene between the Duo de Biron and the Comte 
de Montpensier — The Due de Biron sent to St. Pelagie 

— Madame de Perigord leaves her Children with me — 
I am sent to St. Pelagie — Meet Madame du Barri — 
Her Violence at her Execution — Fatal Letter of Mr. 
Vernon — I am released 153 


My Flight, on being warned that I am to be arrested — 
Incidents of my Flight — Reach Meudon — I am pur- 
sued and sent to the Prison of the Recollets, at Ver- 
sailles — Brutality of the Section — A Condemned Jew 

— Dr. Gem imprisoned in the same room with me — 
Our miserable Food — I procure the discharge of Dr. 
Gem — Deprived of everything, and pray for Death 

— Brutality of Gaoler — Young Samson the Execu- 
tioner — the Queen's Death 175 


Death of the Duke of Orleans — Melancholy feelings on 
the Event — Nothing found among his Papers concern- 



ing me — Crasseau the Deputy — His Brutality to me 

— Imprisoned in the Queen's Stables — The Prisoners 
from Nantes — Conveyed to Paris — Insulted by the 
way — General Hoche — Madame Beauharnais — Ma- 
dame Custine — The Marquis de Beauharnais is sent 
to the same Prison — Affecting parting between the 
Count de Custine and his Wife — The Reign of Terror 

— Santerre — I am released i95 

Notes . .! ••■ ■• [•' !•'. :•! :•■ r* w w r«i f«l r«i m w t». 221 


The memoirs of Miss Elliott offer a twofold in- 
terest: they show the attitude of the Due d'Or- 
leans, Philippe-Egalite, during the course of the 
French Revolution, and they present a picture of 
the revolutionary prisons. This last picture is not 
always accurate. Miss Elliott has for the Due, 
whose mistress she had been and whose friend she 
continued to be, an affectionate good-will: It 
would be childish to deny It, but making allowance 
for this good-will and the Inaccuracies pointed 
out, these memoirs retain a genuine historical 
value. . . . 

As stated In the preface to the first edition. It 
was the Prince of Wales who Introduced Miss 
Elliott to the Due d' Orleans. After a dissolute 
youth, the future Philippe-Egalite, had one day 
discovered that he was passionately fond of Eng- 
land. It is possible that his mind was not quite 
clear as to what was most worthy of admiration: 



the clubs, the English frock-coat, the horse-races 
or the beautiful example of order and of liberty 
presented by English institutions. 

The Due d'Orleans was, through his marriage 
with Mademoiselle de Penthievre, the wealthiest 
of French princes. He was tall, strong, and, al- 
though of heavy features, did not lack majesty. 
He enjoyed the sports, was with Lauzun, his favo- 
rite, one of the leaders of anglomania recently 
made fashionable by them. Very popular in Lon- 
don and making frequent stays there, it is difficult 
to give the exact date when the due d'Orleans made 
the conquest of Miss Elliott. The year 1786 has 
been mentioned, but at that date the due d'Orleans 
was already the lover of Madame de Buffon, the 
last of his mistresses and the only one to whom he 
remained faithful. However that may be, it is in 
1786 that Miss Elliott came to France. 

The Palais-Royal offered at that time a rather 
novel spectacle : it was the hour when the first at- 
tempt towards an opposition to the monarchy was 
being organized. Out of hatred to Marie-Antoi- 
nette with whom he had been quite friendly when 
she was Dauphine, whose lover, it was said, he had 


tried to become, the due d' Orleans had boldly 
thrown himself into the first Fronde against the 
king, — that of the Parliaments. There was noth- 
ing very grave in this : he had been refused the post 
of grand amiral, he had intentionally been kept 
away from the government affairs, his feelings had 
been hurt in matters of precedence, and in showing 
his vexation and playing the liberal prince, he only 
followed the ordinary tradition of the younger sons 
of the royal house. It may be believed that the 
due d'Orleans obeyed specially the counsels of the 
Genlis family in whose hands he had then abdi- 
cated his entire authority. Madame de Sillery de 
Genlis, having been his sweetheart ten years be- 
fore, had shown towards him an affection wholly 
maternal and gently authoritative. Their first 
bonds had been untied without tears, for the sweet- 
heart had kept for herself what was important to 
her ambition and her love of intrigue, — an almost 
absolute influence over the mind of the due d'Or- 

Madame de Genlis had had her husband ap- 
pointed captain of the guards and her brother 
chancellor to the due, thus occupying all the roads 


to his confidence. She had reserved to herself the 
functions of gouvernante to the children of Or- 
leans and was then bringing up in a pavilion of the 
convent of Bellechasse, and as far from the duchess 
as it was possible for her to do ; the due de Chartres 
(the future Louis-Philippe), the due de Montpen- 
sier, the comte de Beaujolais and Mademoiselle de 
Chartres who became Madame Adelaide. The 
salon of Madame de Genlis was opened only to 
those entertaining her views, for it was not by 
chance that a dense group of future members of the 
Convention met there. . . . 

It is certain that Miss Elliott had no share in 
these political intrigues. When she arrived in 
France she was no longer the mistress of the due 
for whom she had no doubt only been one of those 
fancies on which the duchess d'Orleans closed her 
eyes. To having been a friend without influence. 
Miss Elliott owes her being spared in the vindictive 
memoirs of Madame de Genlis. Wealthy, thanks 
to two pensions, bestowed by the Prince of Wales 
and her husband's family, Miss Elliott, having 
confided her daughter to the care of Lady Chol- 
mondeley, was free: she was pretty and was not 


thirty years of age when the revolutionary era 
opened. Through her former Intimacy with the 
due d'Orleans, she found herself attached to all 
those who had joined their fortune with that of 
the due. BIron, who had for the second time 
made the name of Lauzun famous, the due de 
Llancourt, M. de Talleyrand, the comte de La- 
marck, the friend of MIrabeau, the comte de 
Noallles and that squadron of pretty and amorous 
women, Madame de Buffon, the Marquise de 
Colgny, Almee de Colgny, *^ la reine de Paris, ^^ 
and others ; — all those, men and women, who had 
a common resentment against the Court and Marle- 

People are easily mistaken regarding the Ideas 
which animated the nobility on the eve of the 
Revolution. There were two distinct currents. 
Some wished to free themselves from that depend- 
ence wherein, since Richelieu, the King held them 
and to win with him or against him a place In the 
government. This fraction of the nobility, with 
instincts clearly feudal, launched Into the Revolu- 
tion smilingly — a new Fronde was about to begin 
— and at the start, as was classical, It went to ask 


the assistance of the Foreign powers. The other 
fraction, which affected sober airs and claimed to 
be Inspired by the school of Jean Jacques, with the 
exception of the Llancourts or the La Rochefou- 
caulds, had no revolutionary designs. Its aim 
was simply to establish the English Constitution In 
France by giving to the House of Peers consider- 
able power In the councils of the government. 

Miss Elliott, and there Is no doubt of It, did not 
trouble herself in anyway about her friends 
opinions; not being admitted to the secret meet- 
ings of Passy, nor to those of Montrouge, she 
thought that it was only a question of a series of 
riots, which would be quieted at the proper time, 
and In connection with which the name of the due 
d'Orleans was used without authority. 

As a matter of fact it Is now known that the due 
d'Orleans took an Important part In the revolu- 
tionary movement. His part was less that of a 
leader than that of one led, but the results remain. 
The due d'Orleans' faction, this entourage of the 
due on which Miss Elliott places the burden of 
responsibility, being carefully analyzed Is reduced 
to a single man, Laclos. Laclos, In that terrible 


game in which so many heads were to be the stake, 
supplied the required clear intelligence and strong 
wilL The problem presented itself plainly to this 
officer of Engineers, experienced in the study of the 
sciences : It was necessary to group all disappointed 
or newly born ambitions around the due d'Orleans, 
sow gold to produce popularity, slander the queen 
and her entourage so as finally to put the king, al- 
ready deprived of the support of a portion of his 
nobility and at war with his Parliament, alone, face 
to face with the people. 

The due d'Orleans was then to come forward as 
lieutenant of the Kingdom to Interpose between the 
nation and the King, and they would then control 
the government. From Mirabeau to Talleyrand, 
all those who aspired to power saw matters in the 
same light. Owing to the reluctance of Lafayette 
and Bailly, this plot only resulted in the due d'Or- 
leans departure for London after the October days. 
Laclos works out a second plan: the Constitution 
is based on two contradictory principles: the na- 
tion, from which all power emanates; the King, 
who does not receive his power from the nation. 
Between these two sovereign entities, strife is in- 


evitable, one of these must disappear: the Orleans 
faction exerts itself so that it may be the King. 
What is necessary to accomplish this end ? Death, 
which the plethoric condition of Louis XVI and 
his recluse existence, new to him, make possible, 
even still less — a rash action from the King, — 
the flight. On the morrow of Varennes, it seems 
that their hopes are realized and that the forfeiture 
of the throne and the regency of the due d' Orleans 
are about to be proclaimed at the same time. The 
due's Indecision and the failure of the Champ de 
Mars attempt mark the end of the d'Orleans 
party. From that time on he is the prisoner of the 
Revolution for the same reason that Louis XVI 
is a prisoner. When Philippe-Egalite, from con- 
cessions to forfeitures, goes so far as to vote the 
King's death In the hope of saving his own head, it 
will be too late: shortly after that, his son's and 
Dumouriez's treason result in his sentence of death. 
Miss Elliott, without exactly placing the re- 
sponsibility for the acts of a prince without dignity 
or courage, understood that her friend the due 
d'Orleans, the Prince Rouge, had been more weak 
than criminal, as much sinned against as he was a 


sinner. She pities him, and bears him no grudge 
for the painful calvary to which their former at- 
tachment has led her. But perhaps she somewhat 
exaggerates the hardships she suffered. 

If it Is a fact that from 1786 to 1801 she re- 
mained in France, that she was kept under surveil- 
lance during the Terror and a companion in cap- 
tivity of old Dr. Gem at Versailles, her name does 
not appear on any of the registers of the Paris 

On her stay in different prisons, she gives pre- 
cise details, but the text of her journal contains In- 
accuracies which It Is the duty of the historian to 
notice. Let us quote an example: the Carmes 
Prison. Miss Elliott reports a conversation which 
she had with Hoche at the Carmes Prison shortly 
before the coming of the marquise de Beauharnais ; 
but. It Is only forty days after the husband of 
Josephine that General Hoche was Imprisoned In 
the Carmes. It was not in prison, but long before, 
that Josephine and her husband become reconciled; 
Custlne, who was executed in January, 1794 and, 
whom our author mentioned as having been in the 
Carmes, was arrested at his residence, rue de Lille, 


taken directly to the Conciergerle and from there 
to the scaffold : Hurrop, whom Miss Elliott pre- 
sents as a student of the Irish college, guillotined at 
eighteen, was really thirty-two and was in business. 

If the English editors' statement that these me- 
moirs were written after 1801 is accepted as exact, 
It Is possible that these inaccuracies of detail may 
be imputed to failure of memory, or it may be that 
Miss Elliott, having so often repeated her misfor- 
tunes during the Revolution, was unable to resist 
the not unusual temptation to Increase the number 
of anecdotes. 

Whatever may be the cause of these Imperfec- 
tions, Miss Elliott's journal nevertheless, contains 
precious details. The Information It supplies on 
a period but little known of the private life of 
Phillppe-Egallte Is particularly valuable. Even If 
It were admitted that certain episodes of the life In 
revolutionary prisons had been suggested to Miss 
Elliott and not lived by her, the ensemble of her 
account have none the less an appreciable value. 

The names of Chansenets, d'Aralj, Sennason and 
Mllor, which appear In the text, should read: 
Champcenets, d'Aray, Senozan and Mllon. 



The following narrative of the Life of Mrs. 
Dalrymple Elliott, during some of the most event- 
ful scenes of the great French Revolution, was 
composed at the express desire of his Majesty 
King George the Third. Mr. (afterwards Sir 
David) Dundas, physician to the king, was also 
Mrs. Elliott's medical attendant; and was in the 
habit of relating, during his visits to the Royal 
Family, some of the incidents and anecdotes which 
that lady had communicated to him at various 
times, in the course of conversation. The King 
became so much interested that he desired Mr. 
Dundas to request Mrs. Elliott to commit to paper 
the story of her Life in Paris, and to send it to 
him. With this intimation she readily complied, 
and accordingly the narrative was conveyed by Mr. 
Dundas to Windsor, sheet by sheet as it was writ- 



ten by her during her residence at Twickenham, 
after her return from France, at the Peace of 
Amiens, in 1801. 

Of her previous history Mrs. Dalrymple Elliott 
has left no record; but the Editor has gleaned a 
few facts relative to her birth and earlier years 
from those who knew her intimately during her 
residence In England, at the period when she drew 
up the following narrative, which may be Interest- 
ing to the reader. She is represented as a lady 
eminently gifted by nature with beauty of person, 
and grace and elegance of manners; and she was 
wont to attract the admiration of all who ap- 
proached her, while she conciliated the regard and 
affection of those who were more Intimately ac- 
quainted with her. 

Grace Dalrymple, the youngest of three daugh- 
ters of Hew Dalrymple, Esq., a branch of, and 
next in succession to, the noble family of Stair, was 
born in Scotland, about 1765.* Her father, a 
barrister, established his reputation by gaining for 
the plaintiff the celebrated Douglas and Hamilton 
cause, which Horace Walpole notices as one of 

* Miss Elliott was born in 1760, not in 1765. 


the most remarkable of that period. He was af- 
terwards appointed Attorney-General to the Grena- 
das. He deserted his wife, a woman of 
remarkable beauty, a daughter of an officer in the 
army, who returned to her father's house, which 
she never afterwards quitted, and where she gave 
birth to this her youngest daughter, Grace Dal- 
rymple. This child was afterwards sent for her 
education to a convent In France, where she re- 
mained for some years, being withdrawn when she 
was about the age of fifteen, and brought to her 
father's house. At that time It was not the cus- 
tom, as In these later days, for young persons to 
mix In evening festivities ; but at one of the suppers 
given at her father's house. Miss Dalrymple was 
introduced. On this occasion. Sir John Elliott 
was present, a man older than her father ; who was 
so struck with her beauty that he made her an 
offer of marriage, which was accepted by her with 
the same Inconsiderate haste with which It was 
proffered. Such an unsuitable and Ill-assorted 
marriage, as might naturally be supposed, was 
productive of nothing but unhappiness. There 
was such a total dissimilarity of tastes, as well as 


of age, that there never existed any affection be- 
tween them. 

Grace Dalrymple, now Mrs. Elliott, mixed 
much in general society; and being so exquisitely 
lovely, very soon found admirers amongst those 
more suited to her age. In an evil hour for her, 
she unhappily became entangled in an intrigue ; and 
her husband, after some indecent treatment, re- 
sorted to a court of law at once to procure a di- 
vorce, and to punish the author of their mutual 
wrongs. The first object was easily obtained, 
while the second resulted in a verdict of 12,000/. 
damages. In the meantime her brother removed 
her to a convent in France, assigning as a reason 
for the course which had been adopted, that the 
lady was about to contract an unsuitable marriage. 

Here Mrs. Elliott remained until she was 
brought over to England by Lord Cholmondeley. 
She was subsequently introduced to the Prince of 
Wales, who had been struck with the exquisite 
beauty of her portrait, which he had accidently 
seen at Houghton. So celebrated was she for her 
personal charms that there are several portraits of 
her by eminent painters still in existence, among 


others, one by Cosway, which embellishes this vol- 
ume, another, by Gainsborough, at Lord Cholmon- 

The young Prince was immediately fascinated 
with her beauty, and a most intimate connection 
succeeded. The result was the birth of a female 
child, who was christened at Marylebone church, 
under the names of Georgiana Augusta Frederica 
Seymour, — Lord Cholmondeley and one or two 
other persons only being present. While Mrs. 
Elliott remained with the Prince, she of course 
mingled in the brilliant society about him, and 
among many other persons of distinction became 
acquainted with the ill-fated Duke of Orleans, 
afterwards known as Philippe Egalite so often 
mentioned in her memoirs. His fondness for Eng- 
land, its people, and its institutions was well known, 
and at that time he was popular here, especially in 
sporting society. 

We cannot ascertain with certainty when Mrs. 
Elliott again left England to reside in Paris; but 
probably it was about the year 1786. Her little 
daughter was left in charge of Lord and Lady 
Cholmondeley, but was occasionally permitted to 


visit her mother at Paris. On these occasions she 
was always accompanied by a nurse and a footman 
of Lord Cholmondeley's; but she never resided 
any length of time with her mother. The Prince 
of Wales, it is said, made Mrs. Elliott a handsome 
allowance, and she derived 200/. a year also from 
her husband's family. With these few prefatory 
remarks we now leave her to tell her own interest- 
ing story. 


Grace Dalrymple Elliott from the portrait by 

Cosway Frontispiece 


The Attack on the Bastille and Murder of de Launay 43 

Lafayette . . .. . 70 

The Attack on the Tullerles 78 

The Duke of Orleans (Philippe Egallte) . . .110 

Ballly, Mayor of Paris > I54 

General Hoche 200 

Charlotte Corday , 208 




In the year 1789, July the 12th, which was on 
a Sunday, I went, with the Duke of Orleans, Prince 
Louis D'Aremberg, and others whose names I do 
not recollect, to fish and dine at the Duke's cha- 
teau of Ralncy,^ In the Forest of Bondy, near 
Paris. We returned to Paris In the evening, 
meaning to go to the Comedie Italienne. We had 
left Paris at eleven o'clock In perfect tranquillity; 
but on our return at eight o'clock at the Porte St. 
Martin (where the Duke's town-carriage was wait- 
ing for him, and my carriage for me), my servant 
told me that I could not go to the play, as the 
theatres were all shut by orders from the police; 
that Paris was all In confusion and tumult; that 
the Prince de Lambesc had entered the gardens of 
the Tullerles, and put all the people to flight; that 



he had killed an old man [not true] ; that the 
French Guards and the regiment Royal Allemand 
(which was the Prince of Lambesc's own regi- 
ment), were at that moment fighting on the Boule- 
vards of the Chaussee D'Antin, opposite the depot 
of the French Guards; that many cavaliers and 
horses had been killed; and that the mob were car- 
rying about the streets the busts of the Duke of 
Orleans and of Necker, crying, ^' Vive le Due 3! 
Orleans! Vive Necker! '' 

When my servant had given me this Informa- 
tion, I begged the Duke not to go into Paris in his 
own carriage, as I thought it would be very im- 
prudent for him to appear in the streets at such a 
moment; and I offered him my carriage. On 
hearing of the events in Paris he seemed much sur- 
prised and shocked; he told me that he hoped it 
would be nothing, and that my servant, through 
fear, must have exaggerated the events. I thought 
that the Duke meant to show himself to the mob, 
and really had projects to make a party had he 
done so, but I never saw more unfeigned surprise 
than his when he heard that Paris was in such a 


situation. He then got into my carriage, and 
begged me to set him down at the Salon des 
Princes, a club frequented by all the nobility, and 
where he said he should meet people who would 
tell him the news. When we got to the club, how- 
ever, It was also shut by a police order, as was 
every other club in Paris. We then ordered my 
coachman to drive to the Duke's house at Mon- 
ceau, but as the troops were actually at that mo- 
ment fighting on the Boulevards, and the ground 
was covered with dead and wounded men and 
horses, we were obliged to go by the Carrousel, 
and along the Tuileries garden-wall to the Place 
Louis Quinze, which we found full of troops, both 
horse and foot. They were commanded by the 
Mareschal de Broglie, and had been for some days 
before encamped in the Park of St. Cloud, and had 
marched into Paris that evening. 

I never in my life shall forget the awful but 
beautiful appearance the Place Louis Quinze pre- 
sented at that moment. The troops were under 
arms, and the silence was so great that if a pin 
had fallen it might have been heard. They al- 


lowed no carriages to pass without the name of 
the person being given. I gave mine^ and my 
horses were conducted through the ranks of cavalry 
at a foot's pace. They had no idea that the Duke 
of Orleans was in my carriage. We went directly 
to the Duke's house at Monceau.^ By this time 
it was about a quarter past nine o'clock. 

On the Duke's arrival he found his servants in 
the greatest confusion and uneasiness, as nobody 
knew at the Palais Royal where he was gone ; and 
a report had been circulated in Paris that day 
that he had been put into the Bastille, and be- 
headed by the King's orders. They told him that 
all his friends and the Princes of the Blood had 
been at the Palais Royal and at Monceau to in- 
quire about him ; and that they were in the greatest 
consternation and anxiety. He, however, ordered 
his Suisse to let nobody see him that night except 
the Due de Biron; that he would sleep at Mon- 
ceau, but that if Madame de Buffon ^ came he 
would see her. I asked him " what he meant to 
do?" He said that he was very undecided, but 
that he should like to know what really was going 
on in Paris, and what they were doing, although 


by this time his own people had confirmed what 
my servant had said. He wished Prince Louis 
D'Aremberg could see the Due de Biron; that he 
then would hear something more, which would de- 
cide his conduct for that night. 

Carriages were not allowed to pass through the 
streets of Paris after tQn o'clock. As the Duke 
wished to be alone, I went with Prince Louis to 
the Due de Biron's on foot. We saw many groups 
assembled in all the streets near the Tuilerles and 
Place Louis Quinze. I was very anxious about 
the Duke's situation, and wished much to know the 
public opinion about him; we therefore mixed in 
the groups, and of course heard different sides of 
the question : some were very violent In the Duke's 
favour, others as violent against him, these latter 
accusing him of wanting to dethrone the King. 

This accusation shocked me so much, that I re- 
turned directly to Monceau, and told him of what 
horrors they accused him. I found Madame de 
Buffon with him, and as her politics and mine were 
very different, I called the Duke Into the garden, 
and we walked there till two o'clock. I entreated 
him on my knees to go directly to Versailles, and 


not to leave the King whilst Paris was in such a 
state of tumult; and by that conduct to show the 
King that the mob made use of his name without 
his knowledge or consent, and to express how 
shocked he was at what was going on, which I 
really thought he was. He said that *' he could 
not go at so late an hour; that he had heard that 
the avenues were guarded, and that the King 
would be in bed, and could not be seen at that 
hour," but he gave me his word of honour that 
he would go at seven o'clock in the morning. 

We did not find the Due de Biron, nor did the 
Duke of Orleans see him that night. He had 
gone to Versailles in the evening, thinking to find 
the Dtike there, or to hear of him, as he had a 
house in the Avenues, besides his apartments in 
the Palace, as first Prince of the Blood. I then 
went home, my house being near his; and I heard 
in the morning that the Duke had gone to Ver- 

On the Monday the Comte D'Artois, the Prince 
of Conde, and the Duke of Bourbon made their 
escape. They did perfectly right, for they cer- 
tainly would have been murdered ; but they did not 


at that moment mean or expect, perhaps, to leave 
their country for ever. 

All that day, which was the 13th July, Paris 
was a scene of riot and horror. The murder of 
Messrs. De Foulon* and Flesselles, Prevots des 
Marchands, is too well known for me to relate. I 
was unfortunate enough to try to go to my jewel- 
ler's that evening, and I met in the Rue St. Honore 
the soldiers of the French Guards carrying Mon- 
sieur de Foulon's head by the light of flambeaux. 
They thrust the head Into my carriage: at the 
horrid sight I screamed and fainted away, and had 
I not had an English lady with me, who had cour- 
age enough to harangue the mob, and to say that 
I was an English patriot, they certainly would have 
murdered me; for they began to accuse me of be- 
ing one of poor Foulon's friends, and of wishing 
the people to live on hay, of which they had ac- 
cused him. I did not attempt to go further, but 
returned home almost dead. I was put to bed 
and bled, and indeed was very ill. 

I soon afterwards received a note from the 
Duke of Orleans, begging me to go to him di- 
rectly at Monceau, but I sent to the Duke telling 


him my situation. He came to me immediately, 
and was much alarmed to see me so ill. I asked 
him how he had been received at Versailles? and 
why he had returned so soon, as the States were 
then at Versailles In the Jeu de Paume, and he 
had apartments In the Chateau ? He told me that 
on his arrival, he went directly to the King's levee, 
who was just getting up. The King took no no- 
tice of him ; but as It was the custom for the first 
Prince of the Blood to give the King his shirt 
when he was present, the gentilhomme de la cham- 
bre gave the shirt to the Duke of Orleans to put 
over the King's head. The Duke approached the 
King, who asked him " what he wanted? " The 
Duke, In passing the shirt, said, *' I come to take 
your Majesty's commands." The King answered 
him, with great harshness, " I want nothing of you 
— return from whence you came." The Duke 
was very much hurt and very angry ; and, leaving 
the room, went to the States, which I think were 
then sitting In the Jeu de Paume; and he returned 
to Paris at night. 

He was much more out of humour than I had 
ever seen him. He said, that " the King and 


Queen disliked him, and that they would endeavour 
to poison him; that if he wished ever so much to 
be of use to the King and Queen, they never would 
beheve him to be sincere ; and that he never would 
go near them again, for he thought himself very 
cruelly used, as he really meant to be of use to the 
King; and had he been well received when he went 
to the levee, things might have been better for all 
parties, but now he should make friends of his 

From that very Instant, indeed, I thought the 
Duke became more violent in politics; and al- 
though I never heard him speak with disrespect 
of the King, I certainly have heard him very, very 
violent against the Queen. I am very sorry: the 
Court should have considered the Duke's power, 
and been more cautious how it offended him, for I 
am certain that at that moment, had they treated 
him with consideration, and shown him more confi- 
dence, they might have withdrawn him from the 
horrible creatures who surrounded him — Talley- 
rand, Mirabeau, the Due de Biron, the Viscount de 
Noallles, the Comte de la Mark, and others of 
less note. These were the first who dragged the 


Duke of Orleans Into all the horrors of the Revo- 
lution, though many of them forsook him when 
they saw that he was unfit for their projects. They 
left him, however, in worse hands than their own; 
surrounded him with monsters such as Laclos, Mer- 
lin de Douay, and others, who never left him till 
they had plunged him in dishonour, and led him 
to the scaffold. 

The Viscount de Noailles told me himself, that 
it was he who introduced that monster Laclos to 
the Duke, and that he had recommended him as 
his secretary. This man was the cause of all the 
crimes which the Orleanist faction has been sup- 
posed to commit ; and I am certain that the Duke 
knew little of what was going on in his name. 

The Duke was a man of pleasure, who never 
could bear trouble or business of any kind; who 
never read or did anything but amuse himself. 
At that moment he was very madly in love with 
Madame de Buffon, driving her about all day in 
a curricle, and at all the spectacles in the evening; 
therefore he could not possibly be planning con- 
spiracies. Indeed, the Duke's misfortune was to 
have been surrounded by ambitious men, who led 


him to their purpose by degrees, representing 
everything to him in a favourable light, and hurry- 
ing him on till he was so much in their power that 
he' could not recede. Then they threatened to 
leave him, if he did not consent to their measures. 

I am certain that the Duke never at that time 
had an Idea of mounting the throne, whatever the 
views of his factious friends might have been. If 
they could have placed him on the throne of 
France, I suppose they hoped to govern him and 
the country; and they were capable of any horrors 
to serve their own purposes. The Due de Biron 
excepted (and he was too much led by Talley- 
rand), there never was such a set of monsters as 
the unfortunate Duke's self-styled friends, who 
pretended to be acting for the good of their coun- 
try, at the moment they were plotting Its total ruin. 

Such were the people in whose hands the Court 
had left the Duke. I say left; for I am persuaded 
that they might, at the beginning, have got him out 
of the hands of those intriguants, by showing him 
attention and confidence. He was too powerful to 
be neglected. Would that they had thought so 
too! for It would have saved the blood of the un- 


fortunate Royal Family, and, Indeed, perhaps have 
saved Europe from the dreadful scenes it has ex- 
perienced since this horrid French Revolution. 

The Duke of Orleans was a very amiable and 
very high-bred man, with the best temper in the 
world, but the most unfit man that ever existed 
to be set up as a chief of a great faction. Neither 
his mind, his abilities, nor indeed his education, 
fitted him for such an elevation ; and I long hoped 
that his heart revolted at the idea of bringing his 
country into a state of such cruel anarchy. His 
factious friends found this out at last, for they 
never could get him to attend to any of their pro- 
jects; and some of them were fortunate enough to 
make a sort of peace with the Court; leaving the 
unhappy Duke in the hands of those miscreants 
whom they had placed about him, who brought 
others with them like themselves, until they suc- 
ceeded in his total ruin and dishonour. 

This I am grieved to say ; for I had known the 
Duke of Orleans for years, and he had always been 
good and kind to me — as indeed he was to every- 
body who approached him. I had a sincere friend- 
ship for him, and would have given my life to save 


him from dishonour. Nobody can form an Idea 
of what I suffered on seeing him by degrees run- 
ning headlong Into every sort of disgrace; for I 
am convinced, from the bottom of my soul, that he 
never thought or Intended to go the lengths he did. 
I have the great comfort of knowing, that from 
the first day of the horrors In Paris, I always 
warned the Duke, and told him how It would all 
end; and I have most awfully to lament the little 
influence I possessed over him ; for I ever detested 
the Revolution, and those who caused It. My 
conduct at that time Is well known to all the King 
and Queen's friends, and by the French Princes 
now In England, who will do me justice, though 
they know the attachment I had for the Duke of 
Orleans, their very gentle but unfortunate cousin. 
Even when I saw him given up and shunned by 
everybody, I received him, and tried to make him 
sensible of his errors. He appeared sometimes as 
if he felt that he was wrong, and I flattered myself 
that he would leave it all; but he went from me 
to Madame de Buffon, of whom he was very fond, 
but whose politics, I am sorry to say, were those of 
Laclos and Merlin, whom he always found at her 


house, where he dined with them every day. They 
persuaded the pliant Duke that all which was go- 
ing on was for the good of his country; and of 
course what I had said was forgotten. To my 
deep regret, I found he was so surrounded that he 
could not escape their snares, and that I did no 
good. He only laughed at me, saying that " I 
was a proud Scotchwoman, who loved nothing but 
kings and princes." 

These thoughts have led me to digress : we will 
now return to the events which followed the 13th 
July, 1789. On the morning of the 14th, finding 
myself able to get up, I went by my garden to the 
Duke of Orleans, at Monceau, to try to see him 
before he went to the States. At his gate I found 
a hackney-coach in the first court, which surprised 
me, as hackney-coaches were not admitted there. 
I went directly into the garden, which was open. 
I saw the Duke in the room conversing with two 
men. On seeing me he came out, and asked me 
to make breakfast for him and the Marquis de 
Lafayette and Monsieur Bailly, two of his friends. 
I had known Lafayette at Strasbourg and in Paris, 
but had never seen the other man. 

I found by their general conversation that they 


'V ^1^' 





came to consult the Duke about the events which 
were going on in Paris, and I heard afterwards 
that on this same day Lafayette was made com- 
mander-in-chief, and Bailly mayor of Paris. 
Whilst we were at breakfast, we heard the cannon, 
and the report of the taking of the Bastille, on 
which these gentlemen went off in a great hurry. 
The Viscount de Noailles and the Duke de Biron 
came in directly afterwards, and as I saw I could 
have no conversation with the Duke, I went away. 
The Duke came into the garden with me. I had 
only time to entreat him to go once more to the 
King and offer his services. He was very angry 
with me, and asked me whether " I was paid by 
his enemies to give him such advice? " and left me 

I went home extremely unhappy, for I then 
saw that he was at open war with the King, which 
was what I dreaded the most, as from that moment 
I considered him entirely in the hands of his 
factious followers. In the course of that day the 
Bastille was taken, Monsieur de Launay and others 
were murdered, every sort of brutal excess was 
committed, and scenes of horror were occurring 
every hour. The mob obliged everybody to wear 


a green cockade for two days, but afterwards they 
took red, white, and blue, the Orleans livery. 
The streets, all the evening of the 14th, were in an 
uproar ; the French Guards and all those who were 
at the taking of the Bastille, were mad drunk, 
dragging dead bodies and heads and limbs about 
the streets by torch-light. The same day they 
went to the country-house of M. Berthier,^ the 
Intendant of Paris, and forced him into a cabriolet 
to take him to Paris. When they got near Paris, 
a fresh mob, with some of the French Guards, 
met him, and with sabres cut off the top of the 
cabriolet. They then beat him and pelted him, 
and cut his legs and face. When they got him 
to the Porte St. Martin, they brought his father- 
in-law's (M. Foulon's) head, and made him kiss 
it, and then they forced him to get out of the cab- 
riolet, and hung him up to a lantern. They then 
dragged his body through the streets, and carried 
his head to the house of his father-in-law, where 
Madame Berthier, his poor wife, was lying-in. 
They took the head into her room; and she ex- 
pired that same evening from the fright. 
Such were the dreadful scenes of that day ! 



From this period I saw little of the Duke of 
Orleans. I went to the chateau of a friend of 
mine at Ivry, near Paris. Many events happened 
in the course of the summer, known to all those 
who have read the history of the French Revolu- 
tion. My object being only to give some anec- 
dotes of the Duke of Orleans, I will not pretend to 
detail all the events which took place; nor indeed 
could any pen give an adequate description of 
them, or any idea of that horrid and bloody period, 
which is a disgrace to human nature. 

The Duke came twice to dine with me in the 
country, and I found his manner much altered. 
He was low-spirited, which never was his natural 
character. I always expressed great uneasiness 
to him on account of his situation; at which he 
laughed, and said that " I was very foolish, and 
that he had no reason to be uneasy; that I was 



like all the aristocrats, and wanted to thwart pop- 
ular opinion; that he never was angry with people 
on account of their opinions about the Revolution, 
and wished that people would leave him alone.'* 

In October I left Ivry, and stayed in Paris all 
the winter. My house being near Monceau, I saw 
the duke very often; but as I perceived that what 
I said displeased him, I thought it best not to talk 
politics, when I could avoid it. At that moment 
I flattered myself that those horrible revolutionary 
principles would soon have an end, either by the 
French people finding out their own miserable sit- 
uation, and rallying round their monarch, or by the 
assistance of foreign troops. Though I dreaded 
the storm which then would have fallen on the 
Duke, yet I must own, and indeed I have often told 
him so, that I should prefer to hear of his per- 
petual imprisonment, even of his death, rather than 
to see him degraded and dishonoured. 

Soon after this came the 5th of October, a mem- 
orable and dreadful day.^ But I must here do 
justice to the Duke of Orleans. He certainly was 
not at Versailles on that dreadful morning, for he 
breakfasted with company at my house, when he 


was accused of being In the Queen's apartments 
disguised. He told us then that he heard the fish- 
women had gone to Versailles with some of the 
Fauxbourgs, and that people said they were gone 
to bring the King again to Paris. He Informed 
us that he had heard this from some of his own 
servants from the Palais Royal. He said he was 
the more surprised at this, as he had left the Palais 
Royal gardens at nine o'clock of the night before, 
and all then seemed perfectly quiet. He expressed 
himself as not approving of their bringing the 
King to Paris; " that it must be a scheme of La- 
fayette's; " but added, *' I dare say that they will 
accuse me of It, as they lay every tumult to my 
account. I think myself this Is a mad project, and 
like all that Lafayette does." He stayed at my 
house till half-past one o'clock. I have no reason 
to suppose that he went to Versailles till late In the 
day, when he went to the States, as everybody 
knows. The unfortunate King and Queen were 
brought to Paris that evening by Lafayette's mob. 
I have entered into this subject that I may have 
an opportunity of declaring that I firmly believe 
the Duke of Orleans was Innocent of the cruel 


events of that day and night; and that Lafayette 
was the author and instigator of the treatment the 
august Royal Family then met with. If the 
Duke of Orleans' greatest enemies will be candid, 
I am sure that they must acquit him of the events 
of that day, — a day, which, in my opinion, de- 
cided the fate of the Royal Family, and which 
showed the country what dreadful events might be 
expected from such a set of monsters. The Duke 
of Orleans was even tried on this account, but the 
proofs were so absurd that it was dropped. And 
indeed it was clear to everybody, that Lafayette 
and his party were the only guilty people. 

It is well known that the King and Queen were 
never again allowed to return to Versailles. They 
were not even permitted to go to St. Cloud, though 
their health and that of their children required 
country air. They used to allow the poor Queen, 
as a great favor, to go out in her coach and six, 
accompanied by the Dauphin and Madame Royale, 
Madame Elizabeth, and Madame de Tourzelle. 
On these occasions they always looked dismal and 
unhappy; indeed they had every reason to be so, 
for very few showed the Queen the least respect. 


Even those who some months before would have 
lain down in the dust to make a footstool for her, 
passed her and splashed her all over. I used fre- 
quently to meet her Majesty when I was driving 
my curricle. Of course I showed her every mark 
of respect In my power, at which she expressed her- 
self much pleased. Indeed she had the condescen- 
sion to send one of her equerries, M. de Chatlers, 
after me, to ask me how my daughter was, as her 
Majesty had been good enough to think her a 
beautiful child, and to take great notice of her 
when she was about three years old, at St. Cloud, 
and had sent the Duke de Llancourt for her, and 
kept her upon her knee all the time their Majesties 
were at dinner. From that moment I always felt 
myself obliged to the Queen for her kindness to 
my child. 

I believe that she was as amiable and good a 
princess as ever lived. She was cruelly slandered 
by the French nation. I have known Intimately 
those who attended nearest to her Majesty's per- 
son, and from whom she hid nothing, and they as- 
sured me that she was goodness Itself — a kind 
and most affectionate mistress. Indeed she was 


too much so to many who did not deserve her 
kindness. The Queen's misfortune was that she 
had been brought very young to the Court of 
Louis the Fifteenth, where she was exposed to 
scenes of levity and improper society. She had 
thus imbibed a taste for fashions and public amuse- 
ments, which she could not have enjoyed, had she 
kept up her etiquette as a great queen. By this 
means she made herself many enemies amongst 
the formal old ladies of the Court, whom she dis- 
liked, and attached herself to younger people, 
whose taste was more suited to her own. This 
was never forgiven by the old nobility, and her 
most innocent actions were represented in a bad 
light; her enemies, indeed, accused her of every 
sort of vice. But let them reflect one moment on 
those who formed the Queen's most intimate so- 
ciety. It was Madame Elizabeth, the King's sis- 
ter, who was an angel, and as pure as snow. Was 
she likely to have connived in the Queen's dis- 
honour? The idea is horrid; yet the parties at 
Trianon, which were made so much the subject of 
calumny, were always under the management of 
that virtuous princess. Madame Elizabeth's at- 


tachment for the Queen continued till her last mo- 
ments, which I think proves more than sufficient for 
the unfortunate Queen's vindication. Lafayette's 
treatment of the Royal Family during their cap- 
tivity in the Tuileries was very harsh. He was 
always raising reports of their wishing to escape, 
that he might make himself of consequence both 
to the royalists and his friends the rebels. These 
reports always ended in some new insult shown to 
the Royal Family. 

At this time the Duke of Orleans became more 
and more execrated by the Court and the royalists, 
without having more power in his own party, who 
were constantly making use of his name while 
committing horrors in conjunction with Lafayette's 
party; and I must here again declare I do not be- 
lieve that what was called the Orleans faction 
ever even consulted the unfortunate Duke about 
their proceedings. Soon after this the Court 
seemed to treat the Duke a little better, and the 
King appointed him High Admiral of France, 
which surprised people at that moment. How- 
ever, his favour did not last. The King about 
that time was very ill with a cold, and kept his 


bed at the Tulleries. Of course all the nobility 
went to pay their respects to his Majesty. The 
Duke of Orleans went also. When the King heard 
that he was there, he said, " Let the Duke of 
Orleans approach my bed, and let all the curtains 
be opened, that he may see that It Is I ; or a report 
will be raised In Paris that I have fled, and that 
somebody else was In the bed." This anecdote the 
Duke told me himself, and he was much displeased 
with the King on that account. 

Soon after this the ministers and the Court 
thought that If they could get the Duke out of 
Paris things would be quieter. They supposed 
him to have more partisans than he really had, and 
also more power. It was at this time that they 
conceived the Idea of the Duke being made Duke 
of Brabant — a very ridiculous plan. I believe, 
however, that the Duke was foolish enough to 
consent to It, and. Indeed, to wish It much. For 
that purpose they gave him a sort of mission to 
England, but on what subject I never positively 
knew, as I never conversed with the Duke on that 
matter. Our ministers must know what brought 
him to England. Many Ill-natured reports were 


spread in Paris, such as asserting that Lafayette 
had forced the Duke to leave Paris, as he had 
proofs that the Duke had attempted to get the 
King assassinated. This was false, as the Duke 
and Lafayette were at that moment good friends, 
and had met as friends the evening before the Duke 
went to England at Madame de Coigny's, where 
they were on the best of terms. I have some let- 
ters of Lafayette to the Duke since that period, full 
of respect and compliments. 

In the spring of 1790 I went to Brussels, and 
saw many of the Duke's agents, such as Comte de 
la Mark, Walgains the banker, and others; but 
I soon found out that the Comte was more active 
with a view of becoming Duke of Brabant himself, 
or at least of getting the dukedom into his own 
family. I saw him as active in that revolution as 
he has been In France. That country was then in 
full revolt against the Emperor. There were two 
rebel parties, the Vandernotts and the Vonckists: 
the first were so on religious pretexts, and the others 
were more inclined to the Jacobins of France. 
This party was the one which was supposed to fa- 
vour the Duke of Orleans; and of this party were 


the D'Arembergs. I had an opportunity of seeing 
both Vandernott and Vannpar [qy.], who was a 
monk of the order of the Penitents, and always 
wore the habit. He was a very clever, artful man, 
and under the mask of religion led the others. 
Vandernott was an avocat, very quick and active, 
and was the chief actor under Vannpar. 

At that period people who resided at Brussels 
were obliged to have a pass to go out of town. 
On sending one day to the town-house to get one 
to go to the Duke d'Aremberg '^ at Enghein, be- 
tween Halle and Conde, they sent me word that 
they had orders not to let me go out of the town. 
I was much surprised and shocked at this, as I con- 
sidered myself an English subject. I went imme- 
diately to Colonel Gardiner, our Minister at Brus- 
sels,^ to complain. He said that " he was not 
surprised at anything the States did ; that they had 
some days before stopped his own messenger going 
to England, and had broken open his despatches; 
that he had been to the States to complain, but had 
had no redress ; that he did not mean to go to them 
any more till he heard from his Court what he was 
to do; and that if I insisted on his going on my 


account he would, but he thought he had better 
not." I said, I had a great mind to go myself to 
Yandernott, as I used often to meet him, and he 
always bowed to me. Colonel Gardiner thought 
that I should do right. I went accordingly that 
same day, and found Vandernott and Vannpar to- 
gether. I sent in my name, and was very well re- 
ceived. I stated my complaint, and that as a sub- 
ject of the King of England they had used me ill. 
He said that ''he had never given such orders; 
that other members must have done it; that he was 
so much harassed by business that he could not be 
answerable for every fault that was committed. 
He was very sorry, and assured me I should from 
that moment have a pass to go and come from Eng- 
hien whenever I pleased." At the same time he 
told me that " he knew I was come from Paris, and 
there saw much of the Duke of Orleans, and at 
Brussels lived a great deal with the D'Arembergs, 
and of course was of their party." I assured him 
that " I was not; that though I saw much of those 
people, yet I never had liked their revolutionary 
conduct either In France or Brabant; that I always 
was a royalist, and ever should be such; that I was 


neither a Vandernottist nor a Voncklst. Both 
Vandernott and Vannpar smiled, and said "at least 
I was very honest; but as there were very few 
royalists In Brussels I was not dangerous, and they 
would not disturb me any more.'* They were In 
high good humour, as that very day they had re- 
ceived news of a victory over Vandermerck, a 
Vonckist general. 

The villagers were beginning to enter Brussels In 
procession, bringing large baskets filled with gold 
of all coins, to give to Vandernott to carry on the 
revolution. These processions were followed by 
monks of all orders. Capuchins, &c., on horseback 
with a cross in one hand and a sword In the other. 
They were closed by the hangmen of the villages 
and towns, carrying gallows and racks. In the 
evening these poor deluded people returned to their 
villages drunk and In complete riot. 

I witnessed many terrible scenes In Brussels, sim- 
ilar to those in France, but here religion was the 
pretext. I saw poor creatures murdered In the 
streets because they did not pull their hats off to 
Capuchins, or for passing a bust of Vandernott 
without bowing very low. His busts were put all 


over the town and even in the theatre. Vandernott 
was a very odd-looking man. He was, I fancy, 
about forty, rather tall and thin. He was full of 
vivacity, and did not look ill-natured, though very 
ugly. I never shall forget his dress. It was a 
Quaker-coloured silk coat lined with pink and nar- 
row sllver-lace, a white dimity waistcoat, white 
cotton stockings, net ruffles with fringe round them, 
and a powdered bob-wig. 

The horrors now began to gain ground in Brus- 
sels. The Austrians got possession of the town, 
but were unfortunately driven out again by the 
patriots. There was a truce one night. During 
this time the poor Austrians were lying in the Park 
of Brussels, without food or anything they wanted, 
for the inhabitants of Brussels did not dare even to 
sell them an ounce of bread. Here they lay all 
night in the wet. As my house was in the Park, I 
gave them out of the window everything that was 
in the house of eatables and drink; and so did 
Prince Louis d'Aremberg, though it was not his 
brother's party, he having always remained a 
staunch royalist. 

As I feared when the Austrians left Brussels 


that I might be Ill-used by the mob, I set off for 
Paris the next day, hoping to remain there quiet. 
At this time the Duke of Orleans was In England, 
but his enemies having propagated stories of his 
not daring to return to France, his friend the Due 
de BIron pressed him much to return, and show the 
world that he was not afraid of Lafayette. I was 
In Paris when the Duke returned, which was the 
13th of July, 1790, at night. The following day, 
the 14th, was the first famous Federation, when 
the King and Queen went to the Champ de Mars, 
and when Monsieur de Talleyrand, then Bishop 
of Autun, said mass before their Majesties. The 
Duke of Orleans walked In the procession, and peo- 
ple were much surprised to see him, after the re- 
ports which had been circulated. 

I saw him that same day. He dined with me, 
as did the Due de BIron and others. He had 
brought me letters from England, where he had 
seen my daughter. The Duke expressed much 
regret at leaving England: would to God that he 
had stayed there ! He was, however, rather well 
received at Paris; but his faction was always 
afraid lest he should be better treated by the Court, 


and so slip through their fingers. They were en- 
chanted at his having been very much insulted one 
day at Court, as they saw that they had nothing 
more to fear from that quarter ; and the Duke by 
that means became every day more and more in 
their power. 

I wish that the Court would have believed me. 
The Queen had very often expressed her approba- 
tion, and indeed had sent me kind messages as to 
my conduct during the Revolution. She well knew 
the advice I always gave the Duke of Orleans; 
indeed her Majesty charged me once with a mission 
to Brussels, which showed the opinion she honoured 
me with, though she knew that I saw the Duke 
every day. I always hoped to be of use, but alas ! 
I did not succeed. Madame de Buffon and the 
Duke's friends did everything they could to prevent 
his coming to me. They used to tell him that as 
I saw none but royalists and his enemies, I should 
get him assassinated. However, he never would 
give me up; and though he heard nothing but 
harsh truth from me, he always came to me, and 
he always assured me that he believed I was sin- 
cere in thinking I gave him good advice, but that 


the royalists had turned my head, and would cause 
my ruin. I wish that he had believed in my fore- 
sight, for I often foretold him what has since 

I took at that time a house at Issy, near Paris, 
which belonged to the Duchess St. Infantador. 
She, poor woman, had been a friend of the Queen, 
who used often to go to Issy with her children to 
walk in the grounds. It was a beautiful place, and 
there her Majesty could enjoy a little quiet, without 
being followed by a crowd of National Guards. 
The people of the village accused the Duchess of 
hiding effects of the Court and royalists, and used 
to go In the dead of night and search the house. 
This plagued her so much, that she left France 
and returned to Spain, leaving orders that her 
house might be let. I took it for two years, but 
the village was so Jacobin that I left It, and bought 
a small cottage at Meudon, some miles further. 
The Queen came twice to Issy while I had it, and 
was always condescending enough to ask my leave 
to walk In the grounds. 

Her Majesty, hearing that I had thoughts of 
returning to Brussels, sent a great lady to my house 


with a small box and a letter for the Archduchess, 
which I was to deliver into her own hands. I did 
not intend going to Brussels, but I never made that 
known to her Majesty. I got a passport from 
Lord Gower,^ our ambassador, and felt myself 
happy in taking this journey to be of use to the 
Queen. When I got to Brussels, the Archduchess 
had just left it with the Duke Albert; and as the 
Queen had foreseen the possibility of this, she had 
desired me in that case to deliver it to General 
Boileau, who was at Mons, commanding the Aus- 
trian army. 

The Queen's coming to Issy gave rise to a re- 
port that her Majesty had had a conversation with 
the Duke at Issy. The Duke would often dine 
with me there, and indeed often met the young 
nobles who had returned to Paris from Germany 
or England, in hopes of being of use to the King. 
But all their plans were ill-conceived and very ill- 
executed, turning out always to the unfortunate 
King's disadvantage, as they gave the conspirators 
an opportunity of confining the King and his fam- 
ily more severely. I was always uneasy when the 
Duke came and the royalists were present, as I was 


afraid of the Duke meeting with any insult in my 
house. That would have made me miserable. 
But as politics were never discussed, and the Duke 
was very civil and good-natured to them, nothing 
disagreeable happened; though the young men, as 
well as the Duke, seemed much embarrassed. 
They had all been his intimate friends before the 
Revolution, and had liked and respected him much ; 
therefore their situation was more distressing. 
These nobles were what were called Les Chevaliers 
du Poi guard. 

Everybody must remember the day when they 
rallied round the King at the Tuileries, a project 
which was not of the least use. They wanted num- 
bers, and an able chief. Had any prince of the 
Bourbons come to Paris, or planted a standard to 
make a rallying point for the royalists in any part 
of France, I really think the King might have 
been delivered; but very unfortunately there was 
no one chief on whom they could depend. 

I myself, since the reign of Bonaparte, have 
heard General Leopold Berthier, brother to the 
Minister at War, say that he and his brother would 
have repaired to any standard where there was a 


chief of the House of Bourbon, and have fought 
for the King to the last drop of their blood. I 
have heard other generals say as much. I am cer- 
tain that three parts, at least, of France would have 
done the same. 

What a misfortune for the world that this was 
not the case ! Even the brave and loyal Vendeans 
were sacrificed for want of a proper chief. That 
Valiant and hardy people, in spite of all the calam- 
ities they had suffered, would ever have been ready 
to rise for the royal cause. Their loyalty and reli- 
gion will always keep them faithful subjects. 

The King, poor man, had now little exercise. 
When he rode out, accompanied by the few friends 
he had left, such as the Due de Brisac, the Cheva- 
lier de Coigny, and others, that wretch Lafayette 
always followed him with twenty or thirty of the 
officers of the National Guards, so that he seldom 
went out, as his rides were not comfortable in such 



Monsieur, now Louis XVIII. was in Paris dur- 
ing all these events ; but he lived a great deal with 
people of letters, and seldom left the Luxembourg 
but to go to the Tuileries. Many have blamed 
this prince for his conduct when he went to the 
Hotel de Ville; but I am certain, and everybody 
is now convinced of it, that his motive for so doing 
was the hope of being of use to the unfortunate 
King, his brother. These were most certainly vir- 
tuous motives, although not attended with success. 
This prince has always been much respected by the 
King's friends, and those who blamed him the most 
saw that the motive was good. 

The friends of Lafayette were ever talking of 
the King's escape. Would to God that he had suc- 
ceeded in getting off! It would have spared 
France from many crimes, and saved the life of 
that virtuous monarch, who was too good to reign 



over such miscreants. He was religious, and could 
not bear to shed the blood of his subjects; for had 
he, when the nobles went over to the Tiers Etats, 
caused the unfortunate Duke of Orleans, and about 
twenty others, to be arrested and executed, Europe 
would have been saved from the calamities it has 
since suffered; and I should now dare to regret my 
poor friend the Duke, who, instead of dying thus 
regretted, lived to be despised and execrated, and to 
perish on a scaffold by the hands of those whom he 
had dishonoured himself to serve. These are 
cruel truths for me to tell, but such they are. 

Everybody knows that In the summer of 1791 
the King and royal family tried to make their es- 
cape. I have no doubt that Lafayette was privy to 
the event, and afterwards through fear betrayed 
him. They were stopped at Varennes, used most 
cruelly, and brought back to Paris In a most bar- 
barous manner. I saw them In the Champs 
Elysees as they came back, and witnessed such a 
scene as it Is Impossible to describe. The Inso- 
lence of the mob and the wretches that sur- 
rounded the travelling coaches they were In was 
very terrible. The faithful Garde de Corps, who 



had followed the King, were tied hands and feet 
with ropes on the coach-box of their Majesties' 
carriage, which went at a foot-pace, that the mon- 
sters might follow. They were leaning on the 
coach, smoking, swearing, and talking the most 
indecent language. They prevented any air get- 
ting into the carriage, though the poor Queen was 
dying with heat and fatigue, for they had not been 
in bed since they left Paris, and it was one of the 
hottest days I ever felt. This was another dread- 
ful event. 

I left Paris that evening for Spa,^^ and found 
Monsieur, now Louis XVIIL, at Brussels. He 
had succeeded in making his escape by Valen- 
ciennes. I wish that the King had taken that road 
and gone alone, but he never could be persuaded 
to leave the Queen, as he feared that the mob 
would murder her. I stayed at Spa till Septem- 
ber. Would that I had never again returned to 
France! But at that moment we expected the 
Prussians, the Austrians, and Swedes to join and 
save France from, any further faction ; for though 
the King's arrest at Varennes had much damped 
the spirits of the royalists, the case was too interest- 


ing to be given up. Spa was full of emigrants, 
and they all expected soon to return to France. 
The unfortunate King of Sweden, who was him- 
self assassinated some months after, was a sincere 
friend of the King of France, and would have 
aided the counter-revolution with all his power. 
I knew him, and thought him one of the best-bred 
and most amiable men I ever saw. 

On my return to Paris I found that many of the 
emigrants had entered France in hopes of a change, 
but Lafayette and his friends had so surrounded 
both the outside and inside of the King's palace 
with spies, that it was hardly possible for the 
friends of the King or Queen to have any commu- 
nication with them; and their projects were again 
and again frustrated. 

I cannot recollect any other events of that year, 
except that on my return to Paris I found the Due 
de Choiseul and the Comte Charles de Damas had 
been arrested for being colonels of the two regi- 
ments which were to have favoured the King's es- 
cape. I had a letter given me at Spa by Comte 
Roger Damas for his brother, and I was deter- 
mined to deliver it Into his own hands, for fear it 


might contain anything about the passing events. 
He was imprisoned at the Mercy, a convent of 
Brothers in the Marais. I obtained admission 
there, and saw both him and the Due de Choiseul. 
They were in very low spirits, but the King got 
them reheved soon after. 

After this, I remained always either at Issy or in 
Paris, till I bought my house at Meudon.^^ I often 
saw the Duke of Orleans, but was so disappointed 
at the very unfortunate turn everything took for 
the royal cause, that I avoided as much as possible 
listening to anything on the subject. I observed 
also how the Duke was daily lowering himself. I 
was, indeed, very unhappy. His faction, and of 
course himself, were accused of the disturbances 
which were going on. That faction, without the 
Duke, was capable of anything; still I do not be- 
lieve that all the riots were committed by it. La- 
fayette did much harm. 

The Duke of Orleans was taxed with having 
given large sums of money at the beginning of the 
Revolution to incite the French Guards to revolt. 
This I do not believe; nor could those who ex- 
amined his papers and affairs after his death ever 


find any evidence of this having been the case. 
Those who made this examination were not the 
Duke's friends, and would not have spared him 
could they have found it out. There were in his 
accounts only thirteen thousand livres for which 
they could not account; but so small a sum could 
not have paid such a body of men. Lafayette 
himself incited them to revolt. I am certain, that 
had the Duke of Orleans expected the Revolution 
to last more than six months, he never would have 
wished it. He had the great fault of not forgiving 
easily. His governor, the Comte de Pons, when 
he had finished the Duke's education, and he went 
out of his hands, made use of this expression : " I 
have finished the education of a young prince who 
will make a noise, but he must not be offended — 
he does not pardon." This, however, was not 
quite the case, for I have seen him forgive; and 
never saw him nor heard him Fay any ill-natured 
thing to anybody until his head was turned by the 
horrid Revolution. 

In the year 1792, the Duke went to join the 
French Army du Nord, commanded by the old 
Comte de Rochambeau. He had his three sons 


with him; at least, Monsieur le Due de Mont- 
pensier and the Comte de Beaujolais. I think 
that the Due de Chartres was then more advanced 
in Brabant with Dumourier, but I cannot remember 
the events of the army. The poor Royal Family 
got worse used every day: their existence indeed 
was terrible. When the French army was de- 
feated at Mons, the Due de Biron commanded, and 
the Dukes of Chartres and Montpensier were with 
him. It was their first campaign and I remember 
that it was after this period the Duke of Orleans 
went to join the army at Courtray, and took his 
youngest son, Comte de Beaujolais, with him. 

In the course of this summer, the 20th of June, 
the Poissardes and the Fauxbourgs, headed by San- 
terre, came down to the Tuileries, and forced their 
way into the King's apartments, as the King would 
never allow the troops to fire on the mob ; indeed, 
most part of the troops were National Guards, who 
were no better than the mob that came. These 
miscreants forced the red cap on the King's head, 
and used gross and familiar language to him. 
They wanted to get to the Queen's apartments, 
as was supposed to murder her. It was Madame 


Elizabeth who prevented them. However, the 
Queen was frightened, and came and placed her- 
self by the King's side, to whom she always fled for 
protection. They brought a little red cap for the 
dear little Dauphin. He was present, dressed in 
the regimentals of the nation, for they had formed 
a corps of little boys which was called the Prince 
Dauphin's regiment. In short, this mob, after 
staying a great part of the evening, annoying the 
King and Queen, drinking and stealing everything 
they could lay their hands on, quitted the Palace, 
and left the Royal Family convinced that they had 
now nothing to expect but similar insults. 

At that period I received a letter from the Duke 
of Orleans, who was then at Courtray, which let- 
ter I have now before me, expressing his satisfac- 
tion at being out of Paris at that moment. In it 
he says: " I hope they will not now accuse me; " 
but If he was innocent, his friends perhaps were 
not; and the gross insult offered to the King at the 
Palace was imputed to Robespierre and Marat, 
who never were even of the Orleans faction. Af- 
ter the 20th of June, the people who wished well to 
the King and Queen were desirous that her Maj- 


esty should sometimes appear in public, accompa- 
nied by the Dauphin, a most interesting, beautiful 
child, and her charming daughter, Madame 
Royale. In consequence of this she went to the 
Comedie Italienne with her children, Madame 
Elizabeth, the King's sister and Madame Tour- 
zelle, governess to the royal children. This was 
the very last time on which her Majesty appeared 
In public. I was there in my own box, nearly op- 
posite the Queen's; and as she was so much more 
interesting than the play, I never took my eyes off 
her and her family. The opera which was given 
was hes Evenements Imprevus,^^ and Madame 
Dugazon played the soiihrette. Her Majesty, 
from her first entering the house, seemed distressed. 
She was overcome even by the applause, and I saw 
her several times wipe the tears from her eyes. 
The little Dauphin, who sat on her knee the whole 
night, seemed anxious to know the cause of his un- 
fortunate mother's tears. She seemed to soothe 
him, and the audience appeared well disposed, and 
to feel for the cruel situation of their beautiful 
Queen. In one of the acts a duet is sung by the 
souhrette and the valet, where Madame Dugazon 


says: 'Ah/ comme faime ma maitresse! ^ As 
she looked particularly at the Queen at the moment 
she said this, some Jacobins, who had come into 
the playhouse leapt upon the stage, and if the actors 
had not hid Madame Dugazon, they would have 
murdered her. They hurried the poor Queen and 
family out of the house, and it was all the Guards 
could do to get them safe into their carriages. By 
this time the Queen's party began to beat the Jac- 
obins, but the soldiers interfered, and of course 
nothing could be done. This was, I say, her Maj- 
esty's last appearance in public. There were very 
few indeed at the theatre that night who had not 
made a point of going on purpose to applaud the 
Royal Family; but the Jacobins finding that, sent 
for their own people to insult this interesting fam- 

The next event which occurred was the loth of 
August, never to be forgotten ! As I was getting 
up I heard a great cannonading. My house being 
in the Faubourg St. Honore, not far from the 
Tuileries, the noise was terrible. I soon heard the 
dreadful news that the Faubourgs St. Antoine and 
St. Marceau, having Santerre at their head, had 

I'v' ^ 4 






marched down and attacked the Tuileries; that 
the King and Queen had fled to the National As- 
sembly; in short, I heard of the horrors which 
were going on. My first wish was to leave Paris, 
and go to my house at Meudon, but I was told that 
the barriers of Paris were shut, and no one was 
allowed to go out of the town. 

In the course of the morning I had an oppor- 
tunity of being of use to three or four Swiss sol- 
diers, whom I hid in my house till the evening: 
Major Backman living in the Rue Verte, and his 
garden and mine joining, they had come over the 
wall. I wish I could have done as much for their 
major, but he, poor man, perished that same day. 
I don't know whether the men who were hidden in 
my house were saved. They would go away in the 
evening, and I never heard of them more. My 
maid put me in mind of a porter of mine, who had 
taken a garden and small house behind the Inval- 
ides, and near the Military School. She said that 
she had often heard him declare that there was a 
breach in the walls of Paris close to him, which the 
smugglers had made, and that any one with little 
trouble could get over. I desired my maid to say 


nothing to my servants about this, but at nine 
o'clock to walk with me to this man's house, who 
was a very honest and good creature. When I 
got there he seemed afraid of assisting me, for 
fear of a discovery; but I promised him secrecy, 
and that my maid should return to my house in 
Paris, and that I would go alone. I could not take 
her with me, as everything I had was in Paris, 
and my house at Meudon being small I kept few 
servants there. 

I got safely over the wall, crossed the plains of 
Vaugirard in the dark, in fear every moment of 
meeting patrole or murderers, till I got to the bot- 
tom of the steep hill which leads up to the Chateau 
of Meudon, my house being on the top of the hill. 
I had never looked back : my heart beat hard. I 
thought every moment that I was followed. 
About the middle of the hill I saw a man coming 
towards me, and was so much terrified that I 
dropped down amongst the vines which border the 
hill, quite losing my senses. On my recovery I 
neither saw nor heard anybody. Perhaps it was 
some poor wretch making his escape, who was as 
much alarmed as I was. I was then not very far 


trom my own house, and with great pain I reached 
It, but so much fatigued and agitated that they 
were obliged to undress me and put me to bed al- 
most senseless. My feet were covered with blood, 
having no soles to my shoes or stockings. My 
shoes were thin white silk, and that road is very 

I remained at Meudon as quiet and retired as I 
could till the dreadful 2nd of September. In the 
morning of that day a boy, who looked like a beg- 
gar, brought me a note from a friend of mine, en- 
treating me to come to Paris, and to bring a pass- 
port with me for myself and servant, and to come 
alone, as I might by that means be of use to an 
unhappy person; stating that if I wished to be of 
service I must come directly. I did not hesitate, 
but went at once to the mayor of Meudon, who 
gave me a passport for myself and servant to re- 
turn before twelve o'clock at night. I got into 
one of the cabriolets which hold two people with a 
driver on the outside, and I went quite alone. 
When I reached the Barrier Vaugirard, which 
is in the section of the Croix Rouge, and was one 
of the worst in Paris, I showed the guards my pass 


by which I was to return at night. They said 
that I must go to the section-house, and get it 
signed. The soldiers seemed surprised at my 
wishing to enter Paris at such a moment. They 
told me that the people were murdering in the 
prisons; that the streets were running in blood; 
and that those who were in Paris would give all 
they had in the world to be out of it. I told them 
that I had a mother dying, who wished to see me, 
and that I could not refuse to go to her. They 
pitied me, and were very good-natured. 

I then went to the section-house. I forgot to 
mention that they asked me for my servant at the 
barrier, and I told them that he had been sent back 
for some papers, which I was taking to my mother. 
The guard, who went with me to the section-house, 
stated this, and of course they were not very sus- 
picious about a pe'rson who wished to enter Paris 
at such a moment. I then went directly to my 
friend's house in the Rue de I'Encre, on the Boule- 
vards de I'Ancien Opera, and I found to my 
very great surprise that the person she wished me 
to serve was the Marquis de Chansenets,^^ gov- 
ernor of the Tuileries, who had been concealed in 


the roof of her house since the loth of August. 
I had heard, as had many others, that he had 
been murdered In the palace on the loth. How- 
ever, he had been fortunate enough to escape. He 
had passed the night between the 9th and loth 
with the King in the interior of the palace, and of 
course was in his uniform, which was that of ma- 
jor-general. The troops in the palace were the 
brave and magnificent regiment of Swiss Guards, 
and the brave battalion of St. Thomas du Louvre, 
who all fought with great courage, till they found 
that the King and his family were gone, and that 
they had no more to do. The Swiss Guards and 
the battalion of St. Thomas were cut to pieces. 
Those who were left were murdered by the mob, 
as were the officers. Some indeed were beheaded. 
Monsieur de Chansenets never left their Majesties 
till the King was persuaded by Rcederer to fly 
to the Assembly for protection for his family. 
The Queen showed much reluctance to take such a 
step, and did everything in her power to prevent 
the King going, and even went on her knees to 
him, but he thought that it would save the blood 
of his subjects, and that his family would be in 


safety, for I firmly believe that he never considered 
himself in the matter. When the unfortunate 
Queen left the palace, she gave her hand to Mon- 
sieur de Chansenets, and said, " I fear we are do- 
ing wrong, but you know that I cannot persuade. 
Adieu! God only knows if ever we shall meet 
again ! " 

After their departure, Chansenets had only time 
to try to make his escape, as the troops and the 
mob had got into the Palace, and were murdering 
everybody belonging to the King, and pillaging 
everything which came in their way. Poor Chan- 
senets, finding that he had no chance of escape, be- 
ing so well known as governor of the Palace, 
threw himself out of one of the low windows into 
the garden, which was heaped with the bodies of 
the poor Swiss soldiers and others. There he lay 
amongst the dead and wounded all day, not daring 
to stir. At the time the weather was so very hot 
that the stench of the bodies became terrible in a 
few hours. 

Towards evening one of the National Guards, 
who went to look amongst the dead and wounded 
for one of his friends, found that Monsieur Chan- 


senets was alive. He knew him, and told him to 
get up, and he would lend him his coat, and remain 
himself in a waistcoat. He then recommended 
him to make his escape as well as he could, for that 
he could give him no further aid; and that what 
he was then doing would perhaps cost him his 
life. Chansenets went as fast as he could out of 
the garden by the Carrousel, almost fainting with 
fatigue, heat, want of food and rest. When he 
had reached the Rue de I'Echelle he could go no 
further. A poor woman who was standing at her 
shop-door asked him In, supposing him to be one 
of the soldiers tired. He told her that he was an 
Englishman; that curiosity had led him into the 
palace in the course of the day; that the mob had 
used him ill, and that a National soldier had lent 
him his coat. He assured her that he had been all 
day without food, and begged her to give him a 
crust of bread and a drop of brandy. As he spoke 
bad French, with an English accent, she believed 
him ; but she told him that he must not stay there, 
as she expected her husband home every instant, 
and she said that he was a Jacobin, and detested 
gentlemen. She added, that she was sure by the 


fineness of his linen he was a noble; that her hus- 
band had been very busy all day murdering the 
Swiss soldiers and the King's friends ; and that she 
would not at all wish him to fall into her husband's 
hands, as he hated also the English. The woman 
had not had time to get the bread when her hus- 
band came home. She had just time to put him 
behind a press. She, however, had the presence 
of mind to stop her husband at the door and tell 
him that one of his friends was anxious to see him, 
and was waiting for him at a cabaret just by. 

The moment the man was gone she pushed 
Chansenets into the street without saying a word. 
It was then night, and he considered that if he 
could crawl to Lord Gower's, who was the English 
ambassador then in Paris, he might there meet 
with some means of hiding himself at least for 
the night. The ambassador lived in the Faux- 
bourg St. Germains on the new Boulevards. 

On Chansenets' arrival there he saw Mr. Hus- 
kisson,^* Lord Gower's secretary, who was very 
kind to him, and went to inform Lord Gower of 
his being there. Lord Gower, however, as a pub- 
lic man, and not knowing what was to become of 


himself, could not receive him, as a strong procla- 
mation had been published that night, and read 
by a man on horseback in the streets, prohibiting 
everybody, on pain of death, to receive or give any 
aid to the proscribed people who were with the 
King in the Tuileries, and thus pointing most at 
Monsieur de Chansenets as governor. Mr. Hus- 
kisson lent him clothes. When he left Lord Gow- 
er's he hardly knew what to do; nor had he any 
idea where to go. At last he recollected having 
seen some time before an English lady at my house, 
who lived very retired and kept but one maid, and 
her lodging was In a part of Paris very private. 
He thought that he might venture to go to her, and 
try if she could by any means hide him for that 
night, as he had no creature else to whom he could 
apply; for his other friends had many servants, 
who I am sorry to say were little to be trusted. 

My friend's lodging was In the Rue de I'Encre 
behind the old Opera-house. She lived up four 
pair. Chansenets got to her house late, having 
gone through by-streets. The porter at the lodge, 
who always draws a string, there being other lodg- 
ers in the house, only asked, "Who's there?" 


Chansenets said, " Monsieur Smith, for Madame 
Meyler," and as she was at home he went up. 
She was much surprised and terrified at seeing him, 
having heard in the day that he was killed. He 
had never been in her house before, but as he knew 
that she was a very good-natured woman and a 
good royalist, he ran no risk. She heard and saw 
his distress with horror, for he was in a most de- 
plorable state. She had no means of hiding him, 
yet she could not bear the idea of turning him into 
the streets at that late hour, when he must have 
been taken by the bloodhounds who were in search 
for him. Her maid was a very faithful old 
woman, and also a royalist; they therefore thought 
it best to confide in her, and tell her what an un- 
fortunate man she then had in her power. She 
then assured him that as he had had such confi- 
dence in her she certainly thought she could hide 
him In the roof of the room she lay in; but that 
she feared the people who lived in the house might 
hear him; besides, that the porter had seen him 
go in and had told her that there was a gentleman 
upstairs with her mistress. They therefore both 
went down to the door with Chansenets as If he 


were going away, and wished him good-night. 
Mrs. Meyler stood at the door of the porter's 
lodge and talked to him, whilst her old woman pre- 
tended to let a little dog into the street, during this 
time Chansenets slipped upstairs ; in short they hid 
him as well as they could that night. 

The same bloody scenes continued the next day 
in Paris. Poor Laporte, the Intendant of Fi- 
nances, was executed, as well as many others, offi- 
cers of the Swiss Guards. The same proclama- 
tions were read in the streets against the Governor 
ol the Tuileries, the Prince de Poix, &c. The fate 
of the unfortunate Royal Family was decided upon 
— they were sent to the Temple. Domiciliary 
visits were made in most parts of Paris.*'' Mrs. 

* Let the reader fancy to himself a vast metropolis, the 
streets of which were a few days before alive with the con- 
course of carriages, and with citizens constantly passing and 
repassing, suddenly struck with the dead silence of the grave, 
before sunset, on a fine summer evening. All the shops are 
shut ; everybody retires into the interior of his house, trem- 
bling for life and property; all are in fearful expectation of 
the events of a night in which even the efforts of despair are 
not likely to afford the least resource to any individual. The 
sole object of the domiciliary visits, it is pretended, is to 
search for arms, yet the barriers are shut, and guarded with 
the strictest vigilance, and boats are stationed on the river, at 
regular distances, filled with armed men. Every one sup- 


Meyler not knowing what to do with her miserable 
prisoner, he being extremely ill with a nervous 
fever, as they feared these visits, they were obliged 
to wrap him in a blanket and put him down a very 
dirty place, whence they could only take him out 
when the streets and houses were quiet. In short, 
she contrived to hide him till the 2nd September, 
when an order came out that every section was to 

poses himself to be informed against. Everywhere persons 
and property are put into concealment. Everywhere are 
heard the interrupted sounds of the muffled hammer, with 
cautious knock, completing the hiding-place. Roofs, garrets, 
sinks, chimneys — all are just the same to fear, incapable of 
calculating any risk. One man squeezed up behind the wains- 
cot, which had been nailed back on him, seems to form a 
part of the wall: another is suffocated with fear and heat 
between two mattresses; a third, rolled up in a cask, loses 
all sense of existence by the tension of his sinews. Appre- 
hension is stronger than power. Men tremble, but they do 
not shed tears: the heart shivers, the eye is dull, and the 
breast contracted. Women, on this occasion, display prodi- 
gies of tenderness and intrepidity. It was by them that 
most of the men were concealed. It was one o'clock in the 
morning when the domiciliary visits began. Patrols, con- 
sisting of sixty pikemen, were in every street. The noctur- 
nal tumult of so many armed men; the incessant knocks to 
make people open their doors; the crash of those which were 
burst off their hinges ; and the continual uproar and revelling 
which took place throughout the night in all the public- 
houses, formed a picture which will never be effaced from 
my memory. — Peltier, 


make visits at different hours of the night in every 
house, and that the search was to be very severe. 
It then became impossible for her to keep Mon- 
sieur de Chansenets any longer. She knew that I 
had not been in Paris since the loth of August, 
and she therefore wrote me the note which I have 
already mentioned, requesting me to come to Paris. 



I have already given an account of the surprise 
of the soldiers on my entering Paris at such a mo- 
ment of general consternation. On my road to 
Mrs. Meyler^s, I met the mob on the Boulevard, 
with the head and body of the unfortunate Princess 
de Lamballe, which they had just brought from La 
Force, where they had murdered her; and in com- 
ing from thence they had had the barbarity to 
take it to the Temple, to show the poor Queen. At 
that moment, indeed, I wished that I had not come 
into Paris. On reaching my friend's house, I was 
much surprised to find that it was poor Chansenets 
about whom she had interested herself. I had 
seen a great deal of him before the Revolution, at 
the Duke of Orleans', but I had no very particular 
friendship for him. He was now in such a weak 
state that he could hardly support himself. I was 
very much affected to see him in such a situation 



at such a moment. I thought by getting him out 
of Paris that night, which I imagined might very 
easily be done, he would have a good chance of 
escaping from the Jacobins. It was seven o'clock 
when I arrived at my friend's house. It was still 
too light to venture into the streets in an open 
cabriolet with this poor man. I therefore waited 
until it was quite dark. We then went directly to 
the Barrier de Vaugirard, which was our way out 
of Paris. I made not the least doubt that on 
showing my passport we should get out of Paris 
directly. I was, however, shocked and thunder- 
struck to find that they refused to let us pass, 
though I assured them that I had no sort of resi- 
dence in Paris, nor did I know where to go. I 
entreated them, for God's sake, to let me go home ; 
but all to no purpose. Their orders were such, 
that they told me I should not be able to get out of 
any barrier in Paris; and they advised me to go 
and get myself a bed, or I should be taken up as 
soon as it was ten o'clock, for at that hour the 
domiciliary visits were to begin, when no carriages 
were allowed to be in the streets. 

The sad situation of both Chansenets and my- 


self at this moment may easily be believed. He 
was almost dead with alarm, and my knees were 
knocking together ; and what added to my distress 
was the heat of the night. I ordered our driver to 
turn back. He asked me where he was to go ? I 
didn't know what to say: I was afraid of raising 
the suspicion of the guards, who were not so civil 
as those of the morning. I did not dare go to 
my own home with Chansenets, as all my servants 
knew him, and I had a Jacobin cook whom I could 
not trust. Indeed I had not been in my house since 
the loth of August, and my servants would have 
been surprised to see me arrive there at such an 
hour with a man. I therefore did not dare to 
think of my own house, in company with poor 
Chansenets. I accordingly ordered the man to 
drive to the Barrier de I'Enfer, as I could have 
got thence to Meudon. I was as little successful 
there, however; and as Chansenets never spoke, I 
began to fear that our conductor would suspect us. 
I ordered him to drive to the Alices des Invalides, 
on the Boulevards, as I thought of my friend the 
gardener, though with little hopes. It was now 
ten o'clock, and I was much afraid that we should 


meet the patrols. Luckily we arrived at the place 
where we were to take leave of our cabriolet friend. 
I could hardly get out, being in such a tremble; 
but I cannot express what my feelings of alarm 
were when I saw him supporting Chansenets, and 
he not able to stand. I pretended to be in a great 
passion, and told the man that my servant was 
drunk. He said that he was sorry for it, but 
that he must go home, as he had no mind to be 
taken up for us. Accordingly he drove off; and 
Chansenets and I sat down for two minutes at the 
foot of one of the trees. The air soon revived 
him a little, and he was able to stand. 

I expected every moment that we should be 
taken up; and had that been the case we had not 
long to live, for we had little mercy to expect. 
We turned up an avenue which led to my garden- 
er's house, but at this moment we saw, with horror, 
the troops at the further end of the avenue, and 
patrols coming our way. Monsieur Chansenets 
had been very ill ever since his fever; and being 
unable to support him, from weakness and agita- 
tion, arising from the certainty of our dangerous 
situation, I burst into tears. He, poor man, then 


entreated me to give him up to the first patrol, and 
by that means save my own life ; as he said he saw 
with horror the cruel situation into which he had 
bro^^ght me, and that we had now no chance of 
being saved. 

This idea was terrible to me. Had the scaf- 
fold been then before me, I could not have aban- 
doned him, or anybody else in a similar situation. 
I soon began to feel more courage, and we turned 
round and crossed the Pont Neuf at the Palais 
Bourbon, and got to the Champs Elysees. We 
were fortunate enough to avoid two patrols. 
When, however, we got there, I was as much at a 
loss as ever. What was to become of us? It 
was nearly eleven o'clock, and none but soldiers 
were to be seen about the streets. We could not 
remain long unnoticed where we were. I was very 
near my own house, which I could see from the 
Champs Elysees; but I could not risk going there 
with my unfortunate companion. I might as well 
have given him up to the soldiers, as expose him to 
my cook. I could have depended on my own maid 
and porter, but I did not dare. I was much fa- 
tigued; and Chansenets was fainting. He once 


more entreated me to give him up, and to go to my 
comfortable home. This I assured him I would 
never do; that since I had undertaken to save him, 
I would do it, or perish with him. 

Chansenets then asked me if I thought we could 
by any means get to the Duke of Orleans' house at 
Monceau, and hide ourselves in the garden, Mon- 
ceau being now inside the walls of Paris, and not 
far from the spot where we then were. He 
thought that no domiciliary visits would be made 
there; that if the Duke knew it, he would say 
nothing on my account; and he thought he remem- 
bered a place where we might get in without be- 
ing seen. I did not like this plan, as I had known 
nothing of the Duke for some time, nor did I know 
where he was, and I always feared his servants; 
but this was our last and only resource. 

I could hardly get to Monceau by a private road 
without passing my own door, and crossing the 
fields. When we came to the end of the Rue 
Miromenil, where I lived, and of which one end 
went into the fields, and the other into the Champs 
Elysees, we saw my servants sitting out at the 
gates, and amongst them my Jacobin cook. I was 


much alarmed at seeing this. However, there was 
a building near my house not yet finished, and I 
persuaded Monsieur de Chansenets to go Into it, 
whilst I went to my own house to see what I could 
do. He did so; and I went up by myself to my 
servants, who were much alarmed at seeing me 
come thither alone and on foot, at so late an hour, 
nearly twelve o'clock at night, when they thought 
that I was In the country. I told them that I had 
heard at Meudon of the horrors which were going 
on in Paris; that I could not rest In the country; 
and that I had taken a cabriolet, which brought me 
to the barriers, and that I had walked from there. 
They related to me all the murders which had been 
committed, and I sent for my cook Into the room 
and told her that I had eaten nothing all day, that 
I was faint with hunger, and that If It cost ten louls 
I must have a roast fowl and salad. She assured 
me that nobody was allowed to go Into the streets, 
that she should be taken up, and that nobody would 
sell anything at such an hour. I told her that she 
must try, or I should turn her out of my house 
the next day. Just as she was going out of the 
room Monsieur Chansenets knocked at my gates. 


He had been frightened by seeing the patrols com- 
ing into the street, and hardly knew what he was 
doing. On his entering my room both myself and 
servants screamed. I pretended not to have seen 
him before, and asked him how he could think of 
coming to my house at such an hour, and in such 
a dreadful moment. He understood me, and said 
that he had been before the mayor, had been ex- 
amined and acquitted; that they had given him 
leave to go to his own house, which was at Mon- 
ceau, near that of the Duke of Orleans. My cook 
told him that the scaffold had been ready all day 
for him, and that a reward was offered to take him, 
but that she would not do him any harm then, 
though she knew that he was a nasty aristocrat; 
and she wondered at his coming to my house to 
expose me, and put them all in danger of being 
taken up as conspirators. 

I pretended to be very angry, and Chansenets 
said that he would go directly. The cook then 
went out, as I ordered her, and I was left with 
my porter and his wife, my own servant being 
from home, as she was afraid that one of her sons 
was murdered. My porter, who was present, told 


me that I could not get out of the street to go to 
the Duke's, for the domiciliary visits had begun. 
In this dilemma we did not know what to do with 
this poor man. My cook I had managed to get 
rid of, but she might soon return. Monsieur 
Chansenets was almost in fits, and in a deplorable 
state from extreme weakness; in short, he could 
not support himself. My porter thought that he 
might be hid between the mattresses of my bed, 
which were very large, and in an alcove. We ac- 
cordingly pulled two of the mattresses out further 
than the others, and made a space next the wall, 
and put him in. When he was there, we found 
that the bed looked tumbled, and of course sus- 
picious. I then decided upon getting into bed my- 
self, which prevented any appearance of a person 
being hid. I had all my curtains festooned up; 
my chandeliers and candelabra lighted, which in 
all formed about twenty candles, as bed-rooms in 
France are much ornamented. My cook soon 
came home, and I made her sit by my bedside the 
rest of the night. She abused Monsieur Chanse- 
nets, and said that she was sure he would be guil- 
lotined; that she hoped I had turned him out di- 


rectly : in short, she had not the most distant idea 
of his being in my house. 

My own attendant now came home from visit- 
ing her son. She was a good woman, and as faith- 
ful as possible, yet as she had not been there when 
Chansenets was hid, I thought that it was better 
not to tell her anything about it till after the 
domiciliary visit had been made. I had some 
warm negus by my bedside, and when my maid 
and the cook went out of the room to see what was 
going on, I could just get at Chansenets to give 
him a teaspoonful of it. Indeed, I was frightened 
to death, for I heard him breathe hard, and 
thought that he was dying, and I expected every 
minute that my cook would hear him. In short, 
I passed a most miserable night, surrounded by my 
servants, and almost in fits myself at the idea of the 
horrid visit I was going to receive. I trembled so 
much, that I could hardly keep in bed, and the un- 
fortunate man, who was the cause of my misery, I 
thought perhaps lay dead near me, for I could not 
hear him breathe at times. 

At a quarter before four o'clock my cook hur- 
ried into my room, telling me that the guards had 


arrived in my court, and that the municipal offi- 
cers were coming in. No pen or words can give 
the smallest idea of my feelings at that moment. I 
felt that I was lost, nor did I know where I was; 
but a very deep groan from my companion roused 
me in a moment, and God inspired me with more 
courage than I had ever felt in my life. So strong 
was my abhorrence of the horrid acts which were 
being committed, that I am certain I could have 
mounted the scaffold with pleasure. Had the 
guards come into my room at that moment, I might 
have lost both myself and Chansenets, for I was 
determined to brave every danger, and to give my- 
self up to them. Fortunately they visited every 
part of my house before they came into my room, 
and pulled my maid's bed and all the servants' beds 
to pieces, running their bayonets into the mattresses 
and feather-beds, swearing that they would not 
leave the house till they had found Chansenets. 
My maid and my cook, not knowing that he was 
in the house, were very bold and feared nothing; 
but the men said that he was seen to go into the 
house, and not go out. 

This long search gave me time to cool, and to 


consider my deplorable situation. Although my 
own life was of little value, still I had no reason 
to suppose that the unfortunate man near me did 
not value his. I therefore thought that I had no 
right to commit any act of desperation, as the life 
of a fellow-creature depended on my conduct. 
These were, in truth, my reflections when the ruf- 
fians burst with violence and horrid imprecations 
into my room. I was then perfectly calm, full of 
presence of mind, and indeed inspired with a cour- 
age equal to anything earthly. The candles were 
all a-light, day was breaking, and my room looked 
more like a ball-room than a scene of the horrors 
which were passing. They came all up to my bed, 
and asked me to get up. One of them, however, 
less hard than the others, said that there was no oc- 
casion to take me out of bed, as I could not dress 
before so many men. They were above forty. I 
said directly that I would get up with pleasure If 
they required me to do so, but that I had passed 
a very cruel night, and was tired of my bed. I 
had expected them, I said, at an earlier hour, and 
then had hoped to pass the rest of the night In 
quiet. I owned that I had been much alarmed at 


the idea of such a visit in the dead of the night, 
but that now I saw how considerate, kind, and 
good they were, I was not the least alarmed, and 
that if they pleased I would get up and conduct 
them about my house myself. I added, that I was 
sure they must be much fatigued, and proposed 
wine or liqueurs and cold pie to them. 

Some of the head men were delighted with me, 
cut some very indecent jokes, said that nobody they 
had seen the whole night had been half so civil; 
that they were sorry they had not come sooner, 
in order that I might have had a good night when 
they were gone. They would not now make me 
get up, but were obliged to go on with their visit, 
and must search everywhere in my bed and under 
my bed. They, however, only felt the top of my 
bed and at its feet, and then under the bed. They 
also undid all the sofa cushions, both in my room 
and into my boudoir and drawing-room, looked in 
my bathing-room; and, in short, were an hour in 
and out of my room. I expected every moment 
that they would again search the bed, as some of 
them grumbled, and said that I should get up, and 
that they had information of Chansenets being in 


my house. I said that they knew my cook, and 
might ask her in what manner I had received him 
when he came, and that I made him leave the 
house directly. She assured them of the truth of 
this, and that she was certain I would not have 
harboured so great a foe of the Duke of Orleans. 
They said that we should have given him up to 
justice, and have sent to them to take him up, as 
it would have made their fortunes. I replied, 
though I disliked him, yet I did not like to de- 
nounce anybody. They declared that I was then 
a bad citoyenne, and wished to know where they 
could find him. I told them that he said he was 
going home. They repHed that they did not be- 
lieve he would do that; but that if he was in 
Paris they would find him in twenty-four hours. 
They then came back to my bed, and one of them 
sat down on it. 

It may easily be supposed in what a state of 
alarm poor Chansenets was during this long visit. 
I had heard nothing of him, nor heard him breathe. 
At last the monsters advised me to take some rest, 
and wished me good night. They stayed some 
time longer in my house, during which time I was 


afraid of moving. At last I heard the gates shut, 
and my servants came into my room and told me 
that they were all gone. I went into violent hys- 
terics, and was very much frightened. When I re- 
covered a little I desired my cook and other serv- 
ants to leave the room and go to bed, saying that 
I would take something, and go to rest myself. I 
directed my maid to bolt my room-doors, and then 
I disclosed to her what I had done, and who was in 
the bed. She screamed with dread when she heard 
it and said that she never could have gone through 
the visit had she known it. 

iWe now got our prisoner out of the bed with 
great difficulty, for when he heard the guards come 
into the room he had tried to keep in his breath 
as much as possible, and having been so smothered 
he was as wet as if he had been in a bath, and 
speechless. We laid him on the ground, opened 
the windows, and my maid made him drink a large 
glass of brandy. At last he came to himself, was 
full of gratitude to me — had been both frightened 
and surprised at my courage when the men were 
in the room, and the more so when I offered to 
get out of bed. 


I was very ill myself from the agitation I had 
been in for the last four-and-twenty hours. We 
contrived to make the bed in my boudoir for our 
guest, but were obliged to be very cautious for 
fear of my cook, as none of my servants had gone 
to bed at so late an hour. We locked him in the 
room, and my maid took the key. I then went to 
bed, but had no rest, and rang my bell at two 
o'clock; I was almost dead with agitation. How- 
ever, I got up, and my maid went into our prison- 
er's room. She found him in a high fever and 
almost dehrious, and crying; in short, he was in a 
most dreadful state. We were distracted, for fear 
of a discovery: had he died, where could we have 
put him, or what could we have done? 

We were considering all this, when the Duke of 
Orleans came in. He was going to his house at 
Monceau, and seeing my gates open, had asked 
if I was In town. He was struck at my ill looks 
and seeming distress, and was anxious to know the 
cause of It. I told him the same story I had told 
my servants the night before, and then related to 
him the very horrid visit I had had in the night, 
and how much alarmed I had been. He assured 

Duke of Orleans, Philippe Egalite 


me that if I had nobody hid in my house there was 
no need to have alarmed myself so much; but if 
I had, I certainly was in a dangerous situation. I 
told him that I had not been fortunate enough to 
save anybody in the dreadful night; that I wished 
that it had been in my power to do it even at the 
risk of my own life; that I thought the scenes of 
yesterday and this night were horrible; and I hoped 
they would cure all the admirers of the abomina- 
ble Revolution. 

The Duke replied that ** they were indeed dread- 
ful, but that in all revolutions much blood had 
been spilt, and that no stop could be put to it when 
once begun." He told me of the horrid murder 
of Madame de Lamballe — of their bringing her 
head to the Palais Royal whilst he was at dinner. 
He seemed much shocked at her fate, and said he 
had done everything in his power to save her. 
From what I afterwards heard I am certain that 
this was true, for at all times I heard him express 
great affection for this unfortunate Princess. He 
stayed some time with me, was in very low 
spirits, said that ^' revolutions ought to be of great 
use, and better our children, for they were very 


dreadful for those who witnessed and felt them." 
I said that " I wished he had remained in Eng- 
land when he was there." He replied that " he 
should have liked it, but that they would not let 
him stay there; that they taxed him with having 
left France through fear of Lafayette, and of his 
having attempted the King's life." He added 
that " nothing could have kept him longer out of 
France when he heard such reports. By his pres- 
ence he would show the world he had no fear of 
Lafayette; that he had always been cruelly used 
by the Court; that when he did anything with good 
Intentions, they imputed it to a bad motive. He 
assured me he had always envied the life of an 
English country gentleman; and that though his 
enemies taxed him with wishing to be king, he 
would willingly change his lot and all his fortune 
for a small estate In England, and the privileges of 
that delightful country, which he hoped to see once 
more." He asked me If " I thought him monster 
enough to be going through the streets of Paris 
on such a day as yesterday and to-day, and not feel 

I then entreated him to get out of the hands of 


the vile people who surrounded him, and not to let 
wretches make use of his name to commit such 
horrid acts. 

He replied " All this seems easy to do in your 
drawing-room: I wish that I could find it as easy, 
but I am in the torrent, and must rise or fall with 
it. I am no longer master of myself or of my 
name, and you can be no judge of my situation, 
which is, I assure you, not a pleasant one. Don't 
plague me any more ; don't talk in this style to your 
servants, nor indeed to anybody else. We are all 
surrounded by spies, and if you get yourself into 
a scrape I cannot save you; so, for God's sake, 
keep your politics to yourself, and plague me no 
more on this subject; it will be of no use." 

I was half inclined to tell him about Chansenets, 
but I would not do it till I heard from him whether 
he thought it safe, as the Duke disliked him much, 
and thought that he had been ungrateful to him 
after the Revolution, for the Duke had given him 
(Chansenets) one of his own regiments, though the 
Queen had begged it of the Duke for somebody 
else, and she was extremely angry about it. In- 
deed, no regiment of a prince of the blood had 


ever been given to a man of the same sort of rank 
as Chansenets; they were always given to the old 
noblesse. When the Revolution broke out, Chan- 
senets certainly behaved ill to the Duke, and had 
much displeased him. I was therefore more cau- 
tious of telling him on that account, though I knew 
he might with safety be trusted without the least 
fear of his making an ill use of the confidence. 

The Duke said he " was sorry that I had come 
into Paris; that he feared I should not get out 
of it for some days, as the barriers were ordered 
to be kept shut whilst the visits were being made 
in search of conspirators." I was distressed to 
hear this, being at a loss to know how to keep my 
unfortunate prisoner longer In my house in Paris, 
so many spies were about me. Besides, they might 
again make me a midnight visit. I therefore en- 
treated the Duke to try through his interest to get 
me a passport; but he assured me that "he had 
not interest enough to get one, and thought that 
as I had been foolish enough to come into Paris 
at such a moment, I had better stay quietly in my 
own house, and see nobody, and then go back to 
Meudon as soon as the barriers were opened. By 


pursuing this course nobody would take notice of 
me, but that if I seemed so eager to leave Paris, 
they might suspect something." 

He told me that the person who had the man- 
agement of the barriers was Robespierre, a man 
whom he hated, and who hated the English. The 
Duke then took leave of me, after staying about 
three hours. He assured me that he " would see 
me next morning before he went to the Convention, 
where he was obliged to be at twelve o'clock." He 
said he thought I was looking very ill, and wished 
me much to see his physician, whose name was 
Seffert. I refused however to see him. 

As soon as the Duke had left my house, I sent 
my maid into our prisoner's room, where he had 
been during the Duke's visit in great distress, hav- 
ing heard every word which passed. He said that 
he wondered " I had not told the truth; that he 
seemed well-disposed and good-natured; and that 
perhaps had he known the dangerous situation I 
was in with him in my house, he would have found 
some means of getting me out of Paris by the town- 
wall, some part of which is in his gardens." I 
assured Chansenets that I had only deceived the 


Duke from not thinking it fair to divulge a secret 
of such Importance without first having his consent; 
but as the Duke was coming the next morning I 
would then tell him the exact story. He said that 
he wished the Duke would see him; for he could 
vindicate himself respecting his seeming ingrati- 
tude, — as never being able to leave the King, and 
being governor of the Tuileries, it had been out of 
his power to pay the Duke the proper attention he 
wished to do. 

The next morning, September the 4th, the Duke 
came to breakfast with me before eleven o'clock. 
He was very low-spirited. I enquired of him if 
any new horrors were going on? He said that 
"he knew nothing; that he was just come from 
Monceau ; but that he should hear news at the Con- 

I said that '' I hoped the Royal Family were 
well, and that they were well used in the horrid 

He replied that " he believed and hoped that 
they were; though he was sure that they would 
not be sorry for him, if he was in a worse situa- 


I asked him " how they could keep the poor 
King and his Innocent family in confinement? " 

He said, " Because when he was at liberty he 
was ill surrounded, and broke his word and oath 
to the nation." 

I then told the Duke In as quiet a manner as 
I could what I had done. He seemed much sur- 
prised, and assured me that " I should be found 
out; that I was In great danger; and that most 
certainly If Chansenets did not get by some means 
or other out of Paris, he would be taken, and that 
both he and I would be executed." 

I then entreated him either to get Chansenets 
out of Paris, or to suffer him to be hid In his house 
at Monceau. The Duke assured me that " such 
a plan was Impossible; that all his servants were 
spies from the Jacobin Club; and that the part of 
the town-wall to which I alluded was surrounded 
by troops; In short, that he saw no means of his 
getting away." He added that he was distressed 
and sorry for the scrape I had got Into ; that I must 
be cautious, and trust nobody with the secret, but 
contrive to conceal him till the barriers were 
opened, and then get rid of him as fast as I could. 


though he really saw little chance of my being in 
any safety. 

He asked me "where I concealed him?" I 
said " in the roof of my house,'* as I did not wish 
the Duke to know that he had heard our conversa- 
tion. He told me that " I had exposed my life for 
a very bad purpose, for that Chansenets was a 
good-for-nothing creature ; that many better people 
had been taken up and executed; that he wished I 
had saved anybody else ; and that it would be cruel 
if I was to lose my life for such a poor miserable 

I was sorry that Chansenets should hear all 
this ; however, I could not help it. The Duke in- 
quired of me " whether Chansenets knew that he 
was to be let into this secret." I assured the Duke 
that I had told him by Chansenets' own desire; 
that he would give the world to see the Duke ; that 
he could explain his conduct; and that he hoped 
and trusted for pardon, and that the Duke would 
put him in the way of saving his life. 

The Duke said that "It would be impossible; 
that it would be very imprudent in him to see 
Chansenets; for that some of my servants would 


know it." I assured him that he might see him 
without any creature knowing it but my maid, who 
he was aware was much attached to both himself 
and me. He did not seem to like it, and then 
looking at his watch, said that " he must go directly 
to the Convention; that he was then nearly an 
hour too late; that he left me with regret in such 
a dangerous situation; wished I had been more 
prudent ; that he would see what he could do to get 
this man out of my house, but entreated me to keep 
my politics to myself. He wished to God I was 
safe in England, for he thought something would 
happen to me here." On leaving he promised to 
see me the next day, and I ventured to say, " And 
pray see Chansenets." He answered, '' Nous ver- 
rons celaJ^ 

When I went in to Chansenets I found him as 
ill as possible. The manner in which the Duke 
had talked of him had alarmed him to a great de- 
gree, and he thought that he was gone to get him 
taken up. I assured him that he had nothing to 
fear on that ground; that I thought the Duke 
would see him, and try to do something for him 
the next day. 


My maid was in Chansenets' room all the rest 
of the day and evening, trying to console him. 
We were obliged to give him ether : at every knock 
he heard at the gates he thought it was the guards. 
When my servants were gone to bed, I went into 
his room, and told him that he had better make 
up his mind to see the Duke next morning, and de- 
sired him to be in my room when the Duke came 
in, as the Duke would then not fear his being seen; 
that my own maid would watch the Duke^s coming, 
and would announce him. With great difficulty 
he consented, observing that as his life was in my 
hands I might use it as I pleased. 

Chansenets then came into my room, and about 
ten minutes afterwards the Duke arrived. He 
started at seeing Chansenets, to whom he bowed, 
and desired him to sit down. Poor Chansenets 
trembled so much that he could hardly stand. 
The Duke perceived this, and turned to me, and 
talked of my health. I was making tea, and when 
I had given the Duke his dish, he turned to Chan- 
senets and said, ^' Cela ne vaiit run pour vous. 
You have been confined long and seem ill and 
weak; a bouillon would be better." Chansenets 


then said, *' Monselgneur, you are all goodness. 
I have appeared very ungrateful to you : I wish 
to explain to your Highness why." 

The Duke replied very gravely, " Monsieur de 
Chansenets, no explanations. We will neither talk 
of the past, nor on any other subject; but the sit- 
uation of this good person who Is trying to save 
your life at the expense of her own. She Is 111, 
and I fear both, you and she are In a scrape. I 
would be of use to you on her account If I could, 
but I fear that It Is Impossible. You and I must 
forget that we ever met before, as we never can 
again be In the same room; and I never wish to 
hear your name pronounced In my presence. My 
opinion of you has been fixed for some time. I 
am sorry that you cannot get away, as I shall not 
be at peace till I see you out of her house." He 
then talked on Indifferent subjects -^- no politics of 
any kind. At last he looked at his watch, and 
went away. 

I did not see him the next day, but I heard 
from him. In short, I kept Chansenets In my 
house, without any of my servants or my Jacobin 
cook knowing It, till the barriers were opened. 


The moment that was the case I took him to Meu- 
don, which was a bad place for him, as he was 
also governor of the castle of Meudon, and well 
known to all the people about there. But my 
house stood quite alone, and except an old lady and 
gentleman, who were my only near neighbours, 
and who were staunch royalists, nobody but my 
maid knew that he was at Meudon, though the 
searches for him were still being continued in Paris, 
till somebody said that they saw him lying amongst 
the dead on the loth of August. This I fancy 
cooled their further searching. 

I had more uneasiness, for I heard from the 
Duke that visits were going to be made at Meudon. 
At this time he sent me one of his old valets-de- 
chambre, who was a royalist, to deliver me a let- 
ter from him, telling me that the mail-cart which 
stopped at St. Denis, would, for fifty louis, take 
Chansenets to Boulogne, from whence he might 
soon get to England. The Duke also sent me a 
note for the master of the inn at St. Denis, called 
the Pavilion Royal. I did not tell Chansenets 
whence this information came, for he would have 
been alarmed, and would not have gone; but I 


assured him that Meudon was dangerous, and that 
I could now get him to Boulogne. 

We accordingly went in a cabriolet, my old roy- 
alist neighbour and myself, to St. Denis, at three 
o'clock in the morning. The mail-cart came in an 
hour afterwards. We settled with the man, giv- 
ing him his fifty louis, and I saw poor Chansenets, 
In a deplorable condition and much disguised, set 
off. There were other emigrants in the cart also. 
It was In January, and quite dark. 

Some years afterwards I heard that Chansenets 
got safely to England, even before, I believe, the 
unfortunate King's death. After Chansenets' de- 
parture everything got worse and worse, and on 
the 2ist of January the Parisians murdered their 
innocent King. 



It was at this time that the Republicans began 
to talk of bringing the unfortunate King to trial; 
but the Idea seemed so monstrous and infamous, 
that people could never imagine it possible they 
would dare to attempt such an act. However, 
everybody knows that that horrid crime was com- 
mitted before the face of all France, and that the 
monsters carried their audacity and vengeance to 
the last extremity by bringing the most virtuous 
and best of kings to the scaffold, like a common 

I must here mention my unfortunate friend the 
Duke of Orleans, over whose conduct from that 
period I could wish to throw a veil, for nothing 
earthly can excuse it; the more so as he had 
pledged himself to me in the most solemn manner 
that nothing should induce him to vote, unless It 
should be for the King's deliverance 



Some days before the final decision as to the 
King's fate, the Due de Biron called on me in the 
morning, and said that he was come to have his 
fortune told. I used often to fool and play with 
the cards, and pretended to tell fortunes. He was 
extremely superstitious, and really thought that 
I had told him some truths before he went to the 
army. I assured him that " I wished both the 
Duke of Orleans and he had believed more firmly 
the things I told them; for then the King would 
still have retained his crown, and they would have 
been surrounded with pleasure and comforts, in- 
stead of lurking about without daring to have a 
house or a carriage to cover their heads. I told 
him moreover that the King's trial was the most 
abominable, cruel event ever heard of, and that 
I wondered some brave Chevalier Frangais did 
not go and set fire to the house in which the Con- 
vention sat, and burn the monsters who were in it, 
and try to deliver the King and Queen from the 
Temple. He told me that he felt unhappy at the 
King's trial, but that the worst which could happen 
to him would be seclusion till things were settled; 


that certainly some would vote for his death; but 
what gave him great comfort was, to be sure that 
the Duke of Orleans would not vote, as he had 
told him so. 

I had never then mentioned this subject to the 
Duke, therefore I told the Due de Biron that I 
wished the Duke of Orleans would vote for the 
King's deliverance. He assured me that he never 
would do that; that we must content ourselves by 
his not voting at all; as he feared, that if the King 
was sent out of France, he would engage the 
Powers to invade France, and that the Duke and 
all his friends would then be lost. 

I assured him that I would sooner see even such 
an event, than that the Duke of Orleans should dis- 
grace himself by voting for the seclusion of the 
King, little then imagining what would happen. 
The Due de Biron said that he should like to meet 
the Duke of Orleans the next day at my house, as 
when he saw him at Madame de Buffon's he was 
always surrounded, and as he was to come in the 
course of the day, I appointed that it should be at 
two o'clock. 


It was on a Thursday, the 17th of January, 
1793, that they both came. I had seen little of 
the Duke of Orleans for some time before. On 
my asking him what he now thought of the wicked 
trial which was going on, and saying " that I 
hoped he did not go near such vile miscreants? " 
He replied that " he was obliged to go, as he was 
a deputy.'' I said, " How can you sit and see your 
King and cousin brought before a set of black- 
guards, and that they should dare to insult him by 
asking him questions? " adding that " I wished I 
had been at the Convention; for I should have 
pulled off both my shoes, and have thrown them 
at the head of the President and of Santerre, for 
daring to insult their King and master." 

I was very warm on the subject. The Duke of 
Orleans seemed out of humor. The Due de Biron 
then asked him some questions about the trial. I 
could not help saying, " I hope, Monseigneur, that 
you will vote for the King's deliverance? " " Cer- 
tainly," he answered, " and for my own death." 

I saw that he was angry, and the Due de Biron 
said, " The Duke will not vote. The King has 
used him very 111 all his life; but he Is his cousin, 


therefore he will feign illness and stay at home 
on Saturday, the day of the Appel Nominal^ which 
is to decide on the King's fate." 

I said, " Then, Monseigneur, I am sure you will 
not go to the Convention on Saturday. Pray 

He said that he certainly would not go; that 
he never had intended to go ; and he gave me his 
sacred word of honour that he would not go; that 
*' though he thought the King had been guilty by 
forfeiting his word to the nation, yet nothing 
should induce him, being his relation, to vote 
against him." This I thought a poor consolation, 
but I could do no more, and the two dukes left me. 

I saw nobody on the Friday. Every one seemed 
anxious for the termination of this abominable 
trial, though few expected that it would end as it 
did. How could any creature, indeed, dare im- 
agine that such a crime was hanging over France ? 

On the Saturday I received a note from the Due 
de Biron to beg me to come and pass the evening 
with him and Madame Laurent and Dumouriez, 
at the Hotel St. Marc, Rue St. Marc, near the Rue 
de Richelieu; that there I should hear the news, 


and that he had great hopes things would be 
softened. At this time the Due de Biron had no 
house or home; he had been denounced to the 
army by one of the revolutionary generals called 
Rossignol, who was a murderer of the 2nd of Sep- 
tember. The Due de Biron, who was then called 
General Biron, had come to Paris at this period 
to exculpate himself with the War Minister, and 
he lodged during the short time he was there at 
this hotel garni, 

I went there at about half-past seven o'clock, 
and found the Due de Biron and the party there 
assembled and very dismal. He had every half- 
hour a list sent him of the votes, and we all saw 
with agony that many had voted for the King's 
death. He also heard that, at eight o'clock, the 
Duke of Orleans had entered the Convention, 
which surprised us all. I feared much that he 
was going to vote for the seclusion, for I never 
thought of worse. However, every list was more 
and more alarming, till at about ten o'clock the 
sad and fatal list arrived with the King's condem- 
nation, and with the Duke of Orleans' dishonour. 

I never felt such horror for anybody in my life 


as I did at that moment at the Duke's conduct. 
We were all in deep affliction and tears ; even poor 
Biron, who, alas ! was a republican, was almost in 
a fit. A young man, who was the Duke's aide-de- 
camp, tore off his coat and flung it into the fire, say- 
ing that he should blush ever to wear it again. His 
name was Rutaux, and he was a native of Nancy. 
He was a noble and a very good young man, who 
had not emigrated out of affection for poor Biron, 
though his heart was always with the Princes. ^^ 
When my carriage came, I went home; but every 
place now seemed dreary and bloody to me. My 
servants all looked horror-struck. I did not dare 
sleep in my room alone. I desired my maid to 
watch with me all night, and we kept up a great 
light and prayed. I could not sleep. The image 
of the innocent King was constantly before me. I 
don't think that It was possible to have felt even a 
family calamity more than I did the King's death. 
Till that moment I had always flattered myself that 
the Duke of Orleans was misled, and saw things in 
a wrong light ; now, however, all that illusion was 
over. I even threw the things he had given me 
which I had in my pockets and In my room out of 


It, not daring to stay near anything that had been 

Such at that moment was the vexation that I 
felt about a person for whom some time before 
I would have given my life. Nobody can have an 
idea of my sufferings; but, indeed, every honest 
person in Paris felt, I believe, as much as I did. 

The next day, Sunday, I heard that the fish- 
women were to go in a body to the Convention, 
or to the Hotel de Ville, to insist on the King's 
deliverance, as he was to be executed on the Mon- 
day. However, the monsters caused a proclama- 
tion to be read in the streets, declaring that If any 
women were found abroad on the Monday they 
would be outlawed, and might be fired on. 

I now determined not to remain in Paris another 
hour, and getting a passport from my Section, I 
went with my own maid to my house at Meudon, 
that I might not breathe the same air as the King's 

On the 2ist, Monday morning, I hoped every 
instant to hear that the Parisians had risen, and 
delivered the King. Just at ten o'clock I heard a 
cannon go off. This I hoped was some tumult in 


the King's favour; but, alas! that was the mo- 
ment when his august head fell ! 

Meudon is on the mountain, and with a glass I 
could have seen the Place Louis Quinze, where 
this horrible murder was committed. I went out 
on the mountain to try and meet with somebody 
who had come from Paris, and who could tell me 
the King's fate. At last, about twelve o'clock I 
observed a man coming along the road, with a 
handkerchief in his hand steeped in blood. I knew 
the man : he had been one of the King's workmen, 
belonging to the Palace of Meudon, and much at- 
tached to his royal master. He related to me the 
dreadful event. He had gone, he said, to Paris, 
In hopes of being of use, had any attempt been 
made to rescue the King. He was under the scaf- 
fold, and pulled the handkerchief off his neck, dip- 
ping it in the King's blood as " a relic of St. Louis 
the Sixteenth." These were the man's own words. 
He gave me a small bit of it, and died about two 
months afterwards of grief, with the bloody hand- 
kerchief on his heart. Several of the game-keepers 
of the park of Meudon, who used to go a-shooting 
with the King, also died of grief. 


The King was shooting at Meudon on the 5th 
October, when the mob went to force him to go to 
Paris. This was the last amusement which his 
Majesty took. 

The day of the King's death was the most 
dreary day I ever saw. The clouds even seemed 
to mourn. Nobody dared appear, or at least look 
at each other. The cruel Jacobins themselves 
seemed to fear each other's reproach. I was shut 
up all day. I heard nothing from Paris, nor did 
I wish to hear. I dreaded the idea of ever going 
there again. 

From that period everything bespoke terror. 
Robespierre became all powerful. People did not 
dare to speak above their breath. Two people, 
the most intimate, would not have dared to stop 
and speak. In short, even in your own rooms you 
felt frightened. If you laughed, you were accused 
of joy at some bad news the republic had had; if 
you cried, they said that you regretted their success. 
In short, they were sending soldiers every hour to 
search houses for papers of conspiracies. These 
soldiers generally robbed people, or made them 


give them money, threatening them In case of re- 
fusal to denounce them. 

I wished to remain quiet at Meudon, but was 
soon found out, and never having been In favour 
with the republicans, they annoyed me In every way 
possible. They denounced me at the Jacobin club 
at Sevres; said that I had hid Chansenets,. and 
other emigrants; that I had flour hid In my house; 
and that I had entered Into a conspiracy to get the 
Queen out of the Temple. In short, I hardly 
ever slept a night undisturbed by visits from the 
municipalities, not of Meudon, for they were kind 
to me, but of Sevres and of Versailles, which were 
horrid. About six weeks after the King's death I 
was taken very 111, and was obliged to send to Paris 
for a physician. He was a Dr. Leroy, who had 
been one of the Court physicians. 

The doctor had mentioned In Paris my being 
extremely 111; In consequence of which the Duke 
of Orleans sent an old and faithful valet-de-cham- 
bre of his (who was a good royalist) , to see me, 
with a very affectionate letter regretting that " he 
did not dare to come to me, but entreating me to 


see him when I was well, saying that all the world 
had given him up, and that he thought his unhappy 
situation would have made me forgive him, if I 
thought he had done wrong." In short, the Duke 
sent every day from Paris to Meudon to inquire 
after my health, and was kind and attentive to me. 
As at that moment I wished to get a passport to 
return to England, and thought that nobody could 
get me one but him, I fixed a day to go to him at 
the Palais Royal, intending to return to the country 
at night. Accordingly I went, and found the 
Duke's antechamber full of officers and generals; 
in short quite a levee. Romain, the Duke's good 
old valet-de-chambre, took me up to what was 
called les petits appartements, I was very much 
affected and agitated at the idea of seeing the Duke, 
as I had not seen him since he gave that horrid 
vote. Romain and I wept much, both of us, at the 
idea of the Duke's present situation. The poor 
old man loved the Duke like his own child, and 
had been In his service since the day the Duke was 
born at St. Cloud. He little expected ever to see 
him what he then was. 

The Duke came up when I had been there about 


an hour waiting. He was dressed in deep mourn- 
ing, looked embarrassed and very grave. I was 
nearly fainting, and he made me sit down, and him- 
self gave me a glass of water. " You look ill," 
he said, " but I hope you are quite recovered from 
your cold? " I told him that his black coat made 
me remember terrible events, and that I supposed 
he was, as I was, in mourning for the King. On 
this he forced a smile; and said, " Oh, no; I am 
In mourning for my father-in-law, the Due de Pen- 

*' I suppose," I said, " that the King's death has 
hastened his; or perhaps the manner of his cruel 
trial, and your having voted for death?" Here 
I burst out Into tears, and said, " I dare say that he 
died broken-hearted, and so shall I ; but you, Mon- 
selgneur, will die, like the poor King, on the scaf- 

" Good God! " said he, " what a situation you 
are In! I am sure I should not have made you 
come here, had I had an Idea of all this. The 
King has been tried, and he Is no more. I could 
not prevent his death." I then replied, *' But you 
promised that you would not vote." 


On this he got up, observing, *' This is an un- 
pleasant subject. You cannot — must not judge 
for me. I know my own situation. I could not 
avoid doing what I have done. I am perhaps 
more to be pitied than you can form an idea of. 
I am more a slave of faction than anybody In 
France; but from this instant let us drop the sub- 
ject. Things are at their worst. I wish you were 
safe In England, but how to get you out of France 
is what I cannot contrive. If money can procure 
you a passport I will give five hundred pounds. 
This is my last resource for you. The rulers like 
money, and I have hopes for you. I will do what 
I can with some of the leaders, but Robespierre, to 
whom I never speak, is all powerful." 

The Duke wished me to make breakfast, and I 
drank some tea, but felt so very uncomfortable that 
I could say nothing to him, but about the horrors 
of the Revolution, a subject which did not seem to 
please him. He asked me If " I was going back to 
the country to dinner?" I told him that I was 
going to dine at my own house, and to order fires 
to be lighted for some days ; that I should not stay 
at Meudon, because the Sections of Versailles and 


Sevres used me very ill. He said that if that was 
the case, I had better come to Paris, though he 
feared that the Section in which I lived was also 
very bad, and would plague me. He told me that 
people said I had been very imprudent during the 
Revolution; and he entreated me not to talk or 
tell people what I thought, or to say that I was in 
mourning for the King; adding, *' If you like to 
wear mourning for him, in God's name wear it, but 
say that it is for some of your relations, or you will 
get into a scrape, and I should never be able to get 
you out of it. I wish that you could have re- 
mained in the country, till you could obtain a pass- 
port for England. I wish that / had never left it, 
but now I can never see it again." 

I then took leave of the Duke, and went to my 
house in the Fauxbourg St. Honore, telling them 
that I should return to Paris on the Sunday fol- 
lowing, which I did. 

I passed over the Place Louis Quinze on my 
road home to Meudon, and felt a shivering all 
over when I saw the spot where the unfortunate 
King's head had fallen. Paris was then indeed 
dreary; no carriages were to be seen in the streets 


but mine and two or three more. Everybody 
seemed afraid. No visits were paid or received. 
The playhouses were filled with none but Jacobins 
and the lowest set of common women. The depu- 
ties were in all the best boxes, with infamous 
women in red caps and dressed as figures of Lib- 
erty. In short, Paris was a scene of filth and riot, 
and the honest, sober part of the inhabitants were 
afraid of being seen or even dressed with common 

When I returned to Meudon, I found a note 
from Madame la Comtesse de Perigord, wife to 
Archambeau de Perigord, to say that she should 
take it as a great favor if I would see her; that 
she was much harassed; and that she had no 
hopes but In me, In whom she had the greatest con- 
fidence. I have her letter now before me. I 
wrote to her and appointed her to come to me on 
the Monday following at my house in Paris. 
When I saw her, she told me that she was the most 
miserable woman on earth; that her Section had 
found out that her husband had been hid in Paris; 
and that she did not know what would become of 
her and her children. She thought that I might be 


able to get her, through the Duke of Orleans, the 
means of making her escape. She said that she 
wished to go to England; and that her aunt, 
Madame de Sennason,^^ and her uncle, the vener- 
able and virtuous Malesherbes, were miserable 
about her situation. She declared that she was ter- 
ror-stricken ; that she must and would fly, or de- 
stroy herself, for she could exist no longer. She 
said that being so very rich, they certainly would 
murder her; that she had jewels and some ready 
money, and that she would try to get to England, 
where her husband and eldest son then were. She 
went down on her knees to me, begging me to see 
and entreat the Duke of Orleans to assist her; for 
she thought him all-powerful. I Informed her 
what he had told me about my passport. She then 
was In despair; rolled herself on my carpet, and 
I really feared that she had lost her senses. 

She stayed with me some time; and when it was 
dark I, with my own maid, conducted her to her 
aunt Madame de Sennason's house at the Porte St. 
Honore, which was not far from me; and there I 
had the happiness of sitting two hours with the 
poor King's friend Monsieur de Malesherbes, and 


of hearing from himself an account of his last in- 
terview with the unfortunate Monarch. I was 
even blessed by Monsieur de Malesherbes, and he 
pressed me to his breast, praying God to bless me, 
and protect me ! Poor man, I never saw him 
again! He was too good to be spared long by 
Robespierre, though he was long In prison. 

I now sent to the Dtike of Orleans requesting 
him to come to me the next day about my passport. 
He replied to me by telling me that " I must not 
now think of it; that he had done everything in 
his power, but had been desired by a person in 
power to advise me not to ask for it, or talk of 
England at that moment, but to bear my misfor- 
tunes like other people, and to keep very quiet." 
The Duke desired me to give Madame de Perigord 
the same advice ; but she would not take it, and In- 
deed she lost herself by not following that advice. 
The Countess de Jarnac called on me that same 
afternoon, and told me that she came from Ma- 
dame de Perigord, who was at her house, which 
was near mine, quite distracted, and determined to 
get out of Paris at all events, and that she would 
see me, but Madame de Jarnac had prevented her 


coming, for fear that she should expose herself to 
my servants. I returned with her to her house, 
and there we found Madame de Perlgord, who was 
determined not to sleep in Paris that night, even if 
she slept in the fields. 

I forgot to mention that a domiciliary visit was 
to be made that night, which had frightened her. 
She entreated me to take her and her children, a 
boy and a girl (now Madame Juste de Noailles), 
to my house at Meudon, only for that night. I 
h:d an old woman there who kept my house while 
I was away, and on whom I could depend. Order- 
ing my carriage, therefore, directly, I, Madame de 
Perigord, and the children went to Meudon, where 
I left her as comfortable as was possible at such a 
moment. As the people of my Section knew that 
I was in Paris, they might have suspected something 
had I gone away and not slept in my own house, 
the more so as there was to be a domiciliary visit. 
During that visit I was not all frightened. I had 
then got used to it, and had nobody hid in my bed; 
therefore I was not very civil to the intruders. I 
had promised Madame de Perigord to go to her 
the next day. Madame de Jarnac told me, that if 


Madame de Perigord would come back to Paris, a 
person whom she knew was going to Calais, and 
would manage, with a false passport, to get her 
there. I did not approve of this scheme; but I 
brought Madame de Perigord and her children 
back to Paris, and kept her and them in my house 
for ten days or more. 

This was, I think, in March, near the time when 
Dumouriez went out of France, accompanied by 
the Duke de Chartres, son of the Duke of Orleans. 
The Duke de Chartres, on his emigration, wrote 
his father a most harsh letter, which his father 
never forgave till the day of his death. His son 
upbraided him much with the King's death; I per- 
fectly remember the letter, for I had it two days in 
my possession. The Duke burnt it in my room, 
the last time in his life that he came to my house. 
On this occasion he came accompanied by two 
gensd'armes in his coach. I was much shocked and 
surprised to see him in such a situation, but he 
laughed, saying that it was only because his son, 
the Duke de Chartres, had gone off with Du- 
mouriez, and that he owed that obligation to him. 
The guards stayed in my antechamber. The Duke 


asked me If I would give him a breakfast on the 
Sunday, when he hoped to come with less suite. I 
said that I would. He observed that as nothing 
now was certain, and that as his fate was more 
uncertain than that of anybody else, he did not 
feel at ease about the money I possessed, which I 
had placed on his estates. He thought, In case of 
his death, he could make arrangement for me which 
would secure the payment of my annuities In Eng- 
land; that he would arrange all the business and 
give me effects, which would be money to me when 
I could get to England. He assured me that I 
should be far from being a loser, and that If they 
paid his creditors after his death so much the bet- 
ter, for I should then be so much the richer. I 
own that It gave me pain to hear him talk so, as, 
Indeed, I expected his fall every day. 

He then went away. Madame de Perlgord was 
In my house all this time ; but she slept In my own 
maid's room up-stalrs. She and I were sitting by 
the fire, talking about what had just passed, when 
my maid bounced Into the room and said, '' Ma- 
dame, une visite des gardes! '' Madame de Perl- 
gord had only time to get Into a closet, where we 


had before taken the shelves out for that purpose, 
when forty men came into my room. They stated 
that they came to Inspect all my papers; and that 
I must give them my keys. It was twelve o'clock 
at night. I was frightened lest my friend should 
cough; but knew that the men could not find the 
closet, as It was between the two doors, and covered 
with paper, so that there was no keyhole, and the 
person who was in it could fasten the door on the 

I assisted them to search my papers ; and those 
which were English they packed up. At last they 
found a sealed letter, directed to Charles Fox. 
Sir Godfrey Webster, who was then at Naples, had 
sent It to me by a French courier who came to Paris 
from Admiral Latouche Frevllle, who had been 
before Naples to make a manifesto In the name of 
the French nation. I knew very little of Sir God- 
frey Webster; but he thought that I could get this 
letter sent to England. The people who made the 
visit to my house were Ignorant men, who had 
heard of Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox, but did not know 
anything of their politics. They thought that I 


should be sent the next day to the guillotine ; and 
they were enchanted at the discovery they had 
made. They told me that they had long suspected 
me, but that now they had found out that I was In 
correspondence with the enemies of the Republic, 
and that I should pay dearly for it. I assured 
them that Mr. Fox was their friend; that he was 
in correspondence with the Comlte de Surveillance, 
which was then their great tribunal. They stated 
that they had orders to put me under arrest that 
night; and they put their echarpes over their 
shoulders, and arrested me In the name of the Re- 
publlque Frangalse. They took all the papers they 
pleased, and hardly allowed me time to put a 
shawl over my shoulders, though It was very cold; 
and put their seals on my cabinets. 

It may easily be conceived what poor Madame 
de Perlgord must have suffered during this night. 
She thought that they would have put the seals on 
my room-doors; and, though my maid was to re- 
main in my house, yet It was death to break a seal 
put on by them. It happened, however, that they 
were so pleased at getting me out of my own house. 


and leading me, as they thought, to the scaffold, 
that they left my house without seals. On the 
next day I heard, with pleasure, that Madame de 
Perigord got safely that night to Madame de 



It was two o'clock when we entered the guard- 
room where they took me. The soldiers were lying 
asleep about the room; some drunk, others drink- 
ing, smoking, and swearing. There were some 
other miserable prisoners like myself, none of 
whom I knew ; nor was there any other woman in 
the place. They gave me a seat on a bench near 
the fire, and offered me wine, saying, that I must 
not be proud; that there were now no more dukes 
or princes; that they were all good citizens; and 
that if I had not been a conspirator I should have 
been a good and happy citoyenne; but that I was 
now going to dance the Carmagnole in the Place 
Louis Quinze. I assured them that I was in no 
fear of that; for if they had nothing to accuse me 
of but that letter to Mr. Fox, I was sure of being 
acquitted. I told them that I wished they would 
break the seal and read the letter, for they would 



then find that It was not a letter to a foe of liberty, 
but to a great patriot; and that they might break 
open the letter, though I would not and could not, 
as it was merely sent to me to try and get it to 

I remained the whole night in this miserable 
place, without anything but the bare walls to lean 
my back against. They took no further notice of 
me during the night. About six o'clock in the 
morning, my maid and one of my men-servants 
brought me a basin of tea and some bread, my 
house being in the next street to the section-house. 
I was fatigued to death, and had a violent head- 
ache from the constant smell of wine and tobacco 
I had been exposed to all night. The members 
of the Comite Revolutionnaire of my Section, who 
had come to my house with the guards to arrest me, 
were various tradesmen, and the president was a 
barber, who had been a zealous actor in the 
prisons on the 2nd of September, and of course 
was a monster. When they had conducted me to 
the Corps de Garde, they went home to their beds, 
and left me with the soldiers. 

About eight o'clock in the morning they all re- 

Bailly, Mayor of Paris 


turned to conduct me to the Mairie, where the 
state prisoners were examined. This place was 
close to the Palais de Justice, which was at the 
further end of what is called the Cite, on the other 
side of the water from where I lived. They had 
the cruelty to make me walk in the middle of the 
soldiers, and the streets were dirty. When we got 
there we found the room full of prisoners, like my- 
self, waiting their turn to be examined. I am sure 
that there were at least two hundred — a great 
many women, and most of them of high rank. 
During the whole time I was there, which was 
thirty hours, I was close to the poor Duchess de 
Grammont and the Duchess du Chatelet. I be- 
lieve that there were not ten chairs in the room, 
and the women were fainting from fatigue. The 
Duchess de Grammont was very bulky, and her 
legs were terribly swollen. 

A young aide-de-camp of the Commander of 
Paris, whose sister used to wash my laces, saw me, 
and pressed through the crowd to give me a chair. 
Seeing Madame de Grammont and Madame du 
Chatelet, who were older than myself, I was, of 
course, happy to offer it to them. They made 


many compliments about taking it, and Madame de 
Grammont said, *' Pray, madame, tell me who you 
are, that if ever we get out of this place we may 
meet again, for I see that you are also persecuted 
for the good cause." I told her; and she was 
good enough to assure me, that she was enchanted 
to have an opportunity of seeing a person who had 
been so staunch to the cause, and who had rendered 
it such services. She knew all that I had done for 
Chansenets, and for her cousin, Madame de Per- 
igord. The Abbe de Damas had often told her, 
she said, of all I had done, and that she had long 
known the good advice I had given to an unfor- 
tunate Prince. She hoped to God that the mon- 
sters would spare me long, as she was sure that I 
still might be of use to the unfortunate. In short, 
from nine o'clock in the morning of Friday till 
twelve o'clock on Saturday morning, did I again 
remain on my legs, except for about five minutes 
now and then when these ladies pulled me on their 
knees, but I was so much afraid of hurting them 
that it was no ease to me. 

There was a buffet at the end of the room where 
we could have everything to eat or drink we liked. 


on paying for It ; but few who were there thought 
much of nourishment. Their situation was too 
dangerous, and they had very little hopes of ever 
returning to their own houses. By talking in a 
low voice we could say anything, for the room was 
too full even to have guards In it; so they were 
stationed at the different doors. I saw many peo- 
ple whom I knew, and many gentlemen and ladies 
of high rank, but I was not so near them as I 
was to the two old countesses. They both perished 
some time afterwards on the scaffold. They were 
Imprisoned at Porte Royale, and I was at the 
Carmes. Madame de Grammont was examined 
about four o'clock in the morning, and they treated 
her harshly, but let her return to her own house 
again for some time. They did the same with 
Madame du Chatelet. At twelve o'clock on Sat- 
urday they took me to the mayor, I think his name 
was Chambronne. He went in the coach with the 
King when he was murdered. When the people 
of my Section told him of the cause of my arrest, 
and showed him the letter, he said that he could 
say nothing to me; that my case must go before 
the Comite of Surveillance, then sitting at the 


Feuillants, near the Convention; and tHat mine 
was a grave business. 

I then was marched again In the same manner 
back to the Feuillants, In the Tullerles gardens, 
where I saw, while I waited, most dreadful scenes 
— poor men and women coming out of the Comlte 
In tears, papers having been found upon them; 
every one whom I saw was ordered for Imprison- 
ment, and to be tried by the horrid Tribunal Revo- 
lutionnaire. I really felt alarmed at my own sit- 
uation, as I had no Idea what the contents of Sir 
Godfrey Webster's letter to Mr. Fox might be, nor 
had I any Idea of his politics. They did not keep 
me long, however, as they had been In a private 
comlte for some time examining a prisoner. 
When the door opened, who should come out, at- 
tended by guards, but the Duke of Orleans ! He 
saw me, and seemed hurt. " Mon DIeu I " said 
he, " are you here? I am very sorry Indeed." 

He then went out, and one of my guards told 
me that the Duke got Into his coach, but did not 
go to prison. 

When I went Into this awful room, the mem- 
bers, who were Vergnlaud, Guadet, Osselln, and 


Chabot the Capuchin, all sat along a green table, 
and a chair was placed facing them. There were 
at least forty present. I have only named those 
I can remember. The chair was very high up 
steps. I felt much frightened as I mounted the 
steps. They began by asking the people of my 
Section what was my crime, and why I had been 
arrested ? They then told the story and produced 
the letter. Chabot asked me what were the con- 
tents of the letter ? I assured him that I was igno- 
rant of them; at which Chabot said, " It is a con- 
spiracy. I know this woman; she is a royalist. 
She has been intriguing in England to make 
D'Orleans' daughter marry an English prince. 
Send her to La Force.'' 

Vergniaud, who was civil, said, " I don't see 
why this woman should have been arrested, be- 
cause a letter directed to Mr. Fox was found in 
her house. Had it been directed to the monster 
Pitt, you could have done no more. Mr. Fox is 
our friend; he is the friend of a free nation; he 
loves our Revolution, and we have it here, under 
his own hand-writing; therefore can we with 
honour break open and read a private letter di- 


rected to that great man? No! it shall not be; 
we will keep the letter, and send it safely to Mr. 

They began to be very warm, and Chabot In- 
sisted on the letter being opened and read. Osselin 
accordingly opened it, and they found that it was 
in English. As they had no interpreter they were 
much at a loss, as he was gone to examine some 
English papers in the Fauxbourg St. Germain. 
Osselin, who was president, made me leave the 
chair, and come to his side and read the letter and 
interpret it to them. They said that some of them 
understood English enough to know whether I told 
them the truth. 

In the first place, Sir Godfrey Webster hadi 
enclosed in this letter a printed paper in French, 
which was Latouche Freville's manifesto to the 
King of Naples. I then proceeded to read his 
letter to Fox. It was full of praise and admira- 
tion of the courage and energy of the French na- 
tion, and also of high admiration of the manifesto. 
In short, the letter greatly delighted them. 

As the interpreter came in, and read it as I had 
done, they were all in good humor with me except 


Chabot. Osselln wanted to conduct me home In 
one of the coaches belonging to the Comite, for 
they had all coaches. This I declined. I told 
them of the two cruel nights I had passed, and 
they were very angry with the people of my Section. 
However, I noticed Chabot In conversation with 
the barber; and when I was about to leave the 
room, and Osselln was giving me his arm, Chabot 
said softly, " CItoyenne, I have some more ques- 
tions to ask you. Do you know D' Orleans or 
EgaUtef '' I said, " Yes." " Had you not some 
conversation with him In the outer room before 
you came In here?" I said, "I merely asked 
him, how are you?" "And pray what did he 
say?" I told them that he said *' Mon DIeu! 
I am sorry to see you here Indeed ! " Chabot said, 
" Then It Is plain that he thought and feared that 
you were to be examined on his account, and that 
he was alarmed lest you should betray him." 

I now became very much alarmed and hurt, and 
burst Into tears. He said, " We don't mind tears. 
I wish that we had all those which had been shed 
In this room — they would supply all the houses In 
Paris with water." He then went on, " Don't 


you know that D'Orleans wanted to be king, and 
destroy the republic?" I said, " I am sure that 
he never did." He said, " You know that he did: 
he voted for the King's death for that purpose." 
I said, " I wish from my soul that he never had 
done so; he might now be happy." " Why then 
did he do it?" '' Because you all forced him to 
commit that dreadful sin." *' So you think it was 
a sin ? You are very impudent to say so here ; for 
we are fifty members in this room, and we all voted 
the death of the tyrant Capet, but not to be kings 
ourselves, but only to rid the world of that horrid 
race. And now we will see what we can do for 
this would-be king, who was always turning to that 
gulf of liberty, England, where he is now in cor- 
respondence, and so are you. I shall not let you 
escape. Send her to La Force ; she must go to the 
Tribunal ; let us settle this." 

About twenty of the members then got up, and 
said that this was not right; that they must take 
more information respecting me; that I should 
have leave to return home; that If I was a friend 
of Fox, I could not be a conspirator. In short, 
they were in a dreadful uproar about me, when 


Robespierre came Into the room. He seemed 
much occupied about some event of importance, 
and I was dismissed till further orders. 

I returned home and went to bed, though it was 
not more than four o'clock. At eight o'clock the 
Duke of Orleans sent to my house, to say that he 
would come and see me the next day, Sunday, at 
twelve o'clock. When I woke they gave me his 
note. I answered it, and begged that he would 
not come, as I wanted to go to Meudon early in the 
morning; but that I should return at night, and 
should be glad to see him. I told my servant to 
take It to the Palais Royal at eight o'clock in the 
morning. My servant returned directly after- 
wards, and brought me back my note. He in- 
formed me that the Duke had been arrested in his 
bed at four o'clock in the morning, and taken with- 
out servants or anybody but his son the Comte de 
Beaujolals, a boy of eleven years of age, to the 
prison of the Abbaye ; and that his servants were 
gone to the Comlte of Surveillance to try and get 
leave to attend him there. They allowed him his 
valet-de-chambre, Mongot, for that day, and a 
footman for the child. 


This event much shocked me, as the end was 
now too plain. Mongot came to me on the Mon- 
day about two o'clock, and told me that they had 
kept him all night in a cell, and that at three o'clock 
he heard a carriage with post-horses drive out of 
the prison-yard. He suspected that it was the 
Duke whom they were carrying away, as they had 
confined him. About ten o'clock in the morning 
they set him at liberty, and told him that his master 
was gone where he never could see him again. 
They had been to the Palais Royal to get his trav- 
elling-carriage at twelve o'clock the night before. 
He had eight post-horses and sixty gensd'armes 
to escort him to Marseilles, for it was there they 
took him and the little Comte de Beaujolais. 
They confined them In the Fort St. Jean, quite at 
the bottom, where he, I understood, was very ill- 
used. I never saw him afterwards. When he 
was brought back to Paris to be tried and exe- 
cuted, I was myself a miserable prisoner. 

Monsieur le Due de Montpensler was then at 
Nice, aide-de-camp to the Due de Biron, who com- 
manded that army. An order had been sent di- 
recting poor Biron to arrest the young Prince, and 


to send him with a strong escort to the Fort of 
Marseilles. This was a cruel task for him to per- 
form against the son of his old friend, and against 
a young man whom he loved as his own child. 
They were just going to sit down to dinner at the 
moment when the order came. The Due de Biron 
was so much affected when he saw the order that 
he shed tears, turned pale, and could of course 
eat no dinner. He looked very sadly at the Due 
de Montpensier, and the young man flew to him, 
saying, "General, is my poor father murdered? 
you look at me so mournfully, and are so much 
affected. I am sure it is true. Tell me, in the 
name of God, the worst! " The Duke then took 
the young Prince in his arms, and showed him the 
cruel order. In great joy, he said, " Is that all? 
Good God! how my mind Is eased! I thought 
that my father was no more. Let me go directly ; 
I shall try to amuse him In his captivity.'* 

This anecdote the Due de Biron told me soon 
afterwards, when we were both prisoners in St. 

About ten days after the Duke of Orleans had 
been sent to Marseilles, the Due de Biron was 


sent to St. Pelagic from Nice, under an escort 
He never left that prison till he went to the 
Tribunal Revolutionnaire, and thence to the scaf- 
fold. He suffered death about ten days after the 
Duke of Orleans. 

On the Monday morning on which the Duke 
was sent to Marseilles, Madame de Perigord came 
to me with her son and daughter Melanie, the lat- 
ter about nine years old. She Is now Madame de 
Noailles. Her son was about five years old. 
Madame de Perigord told me that she was going 
off in the night with a friend of Madame de Jarnac 
for Calais; and that her aunt, and her uncle. Mon- 
sieur de Malesherbes, had been arrested that morn- 
ing. She declared that she would not stay, but 
would leave her two children in France; that she 
had brought them to me, as I was the only person 
In the world to whom she would intrust them. 
She entreated me to adopt them as my own. She 
then put the two children In my arms, and we had 
a very affecting scene. She soon afterwards took 
her last leave of them and me, and returned to 
Madame de Jarnac, whence she went to Calais. 

Six weeks after having these dear children un- 


der my protection, I was sitting hearing Melanie 
read, when the members of the Comite Revolu- 
tionnaire of my Section came into my room, and 
told me that now I really was going in good earnest 
to prison, and they visited my papers, putting the 
seals all over my house. Without their hearing 
me, I ordered my maid to take the children as 
soon as I was gone to Madame de Jarnac, who 
had been desired by their mother, in case of my 
arrest, to send them to a person who had been her 

After they had made the visit of my papers, 
and ate some dinner, which I, of course, did not, 
they allowed me to take linen and everything I 
wanted, put me into a hackney-coach, and drove 
to the prison of St. Pelagie, a most deplorable, 
dirty, uncomfortable hole. This prison had been 
used before the Revolution as a house of correc- 
tion. It was six o'clock when I got there in the 
month of May. It had been a beautiful day, but 
no appearance of spring or summer was to be 
found in this sad habitation! The other prison- 
ers were, like myself, all in tears, dreading what 
was to happen, and full of pity and kindness for 


me, their new companion. We became all Inti- 
mate friends in a moment. There I saw many 
who I had hoped were out of France; but about 
eight o'clock, when they brought us our miserable 
supper, ham, eggs, and dirty water, whom should 
I see, and who should come and take me in his 
arms, and burst into tears, but the unfortunate 
Due de Biron ! I scarcely ever was more affected 
in my life. 

In the prison also I found Madame Laurent, 
a friend of the poor Duke's. Of course the pris- 
oners were eager to hear the news, as they had 
no sort of intercourse with people out of prison. 
I could only wound them with horrible truths of 
what was going on. The next day many other 
prisoners arrived, and every day more and more. 
Many were daily taken off to the scaffold. I 
feared for poor Biron. We could have little con- 
versation, for the men and women were on dif- 
ferent sides in that prison; Indeed our chief con- 
versation was from one window to the other op- 

I did not stay at St. Pelagic long. It was In 
June, I think, that I left It; but cannot be exact, 


as the months were different In France, and 1 
never really knew what month it was. Poor 
Madame Du Barri came there before I left it. 
She was very unhappy. She used to sit on my bed 
for hours, telling me anecdotes of Louis XV. and 
the Court. She talked to me much of England 
and of the Prince of Wales, with whom she was 
enchanted. She regretted much ever having left 
England. She dreaded her fate. Indeed, she 
showed very little courage on the scaffold; yet, 
I believe, had every one made as much resistance 
as she did, Robespierre would not have dared to 
put so many to death, for Madame Du Barri's 
screams, they told me, frightened and alarmed the 
mob. She was very good-natured, and during the 
time I lived In the same prison with her I liked her 

I had been sent to St. Pelagic while the Com'ite 
du Salut Public was visiting the Duke of Orleans' 
papers, and they thought that I should be found 
to have been an agent of the Duke's about Eng- 
land. They found, however, nothing that could 
induce them to suppose that I had any correspon- 
dence with the Duke; and I was fortunate enough 


to have been sent for by the Comite du Salut Pub- 
lic to hear a letter read in English, which was 
found on the visit of the Duke's papers. They 
wanted to learn if I knew anything of the writer, 
who he was, and what it could mean? I was 
much alarmed when the guard took me from St. 
Pelagic to the Tuileries, where the Comite sat. 
However, I found that this famous letter to the 
Duke was one from old Mr. Vernon about horses 
and bets, and Newmarket, &c., all of which they 
thought had a double meaning. In short, that un- 
fortunate letter was once more produced at the 
Tribunal on the poor Duke's trial, and was one 
of the pretexts for condemning him to death. 

They kept me all night under examination, but 
they found that I could give them no great satis- 
faction. In the morning they sent me home, and 
people to take the seals off my house. I never 
knew why they treated me so well at that moment. 
While I was at the Comite they received a letter 
from the Duke of Orleans to desire them to send 
him soixante mille francs, and I heard them say 
that trente mille was enough for his expenses. The 
members who examined me were Barrere, Billaud 


de Varennes, Merlin de Douay, and Robespierre, 
who asked me himself several questions, but he 
was not at the Board : he was going in and out of 
the room. All this took place in the King's fine 
room in the Pavilion de Flore, where they held the 
Comite; and the same furniture remained which 
the poor King had. It was in that very room that 
all the murders were signed, even that of the un- 
fortunate Queen herself. 

I went from St. Pelagie without supposing that 
I was not to return, and therefore took no leave of 
my poor friends there. My own house was very 
dreary. I never was one moment happy; at every 
noise expecting that they were coming to arrest me. 
I almost wished that they had left me in St. Pel- 
agie. I had no friends. The only person whom 
I saw now and then was Madame de Jarnac. She, 
poor woman ! was not In better situation than my- 
self. I also saw Mrs. Meyler. She came to live 
in my neighbourhood. 



About the 6th of September I went one night 
to see Mrs. Meyler, who was ill. With her were 
two or three French ladies, and we supped to- 
gether. I was in better spirits than for some time 
previously. About half-past eleven o'clock, I 
walked home with my servant. This was a late 
hour at that period in Paris. When I came into 
my room to undress, my maid looked very dull, 
and she said, " Mon Dieu! Madame, how gay you 
look to-night! I have not seen you look so gay 
or so well these many, many months." 

" No," I said; " I really feel myself more com- 
fortable than I have done this long time." 

She wished, she said, that I might have noth- 
ing to damp my mirth; adding, " God forbid, that 
I should!" 

I said, '' Then don't look so dismal. I hate 
to see you look so ! " 



She asked me if I had heard anything of the 
Queen's trial? I was sorry she talked of that, 
for it made me unhappy. At that moment the 
trial of the unfortunate Queen was going on. I 
then went to bed. My maid wished me " good 
night," two or three times, and kissed my hands. 
I felt her tears on my hands. I soon fell asleep, 
and about six o'clock in the morning my maid came 
into my room, and said, " Madame, get up di- 
rectly. There is no time to lose. You are to be 
arrested at nine o'clock; and your death-warrant 
is signed ! I had this information last night from 
your grocer, who is one of the members of the 
Section, but he wishes you well, and advises you 
to make your escape. I was to have told you this 
last night, but I had not the heart to do so; you 
looked so happy, and I have not seen you so for a 
long time." 

I only half-dressed myself. I took my dia- 
monds, and other things which might be put into 
my pocket. I did not even wait to tie my petti- 
coats on, for we did not for certain know when 
the wretches might come. I ran into the fields 
behind Monceau, but did not know where to go. 


All the morning I wandered about the new Boule- 
vards, till I got to the Porte St. Denis. Then re- 
membering that Milor,i7 the maitre-de-ballet of the 
Opera, and his wife, Bigotini, lived at the top of 
the Fauxbourg St. Denis, although I hardly knew 
them, I went there, as they were staunch royalists, 
and were known to be good people. They re- 
ceived me with kindness, pitied me, but could not 
keep me, as they expected visits in the night, and 
I should be searched for. They therefore thought 
it best for me to try and get to my house at Meu- 
don, when it was dark. M. Milor was good 
enough to walk with me there at ten o'clock at 
night, and to return in a cabriolet, which he was 
fortunate enough to meet with at twelve o'clock 
at night. 

I then went down with my dairy-maid to the 
village, and made the mayor get up. He was an 
honest labourer, who had a great regard for me, 
as had many others of the same class, who be- 
longed to the municipality. I told the mayor my 
situation; that I expected every hour the people 
from Paris would arrive to arrest me; that of 
course when they could not find me in Paris, they 


would be sure to come there. I told him that all 
I feared was being taken to Paris ; that the people 
of my Section had always ill-used me, and accused 
me of being a royalist; and that I should be lost If 
I were taken again to the prisons in Paris. I en- 
treated him to call up the municipality and arrest 
me, and then keep me in the castle prison of 

The mayor, who was a very sensible man, said 
that he could not assist me ; that Versailles was the 
chief authority for the Seine et Oise; that I was 
then out of the department of Paris, which was 
that on Seine only, and that my Section could not 
touch me there. He assured me that if I would 
go home to bed, they would not come; that he 
would get on his horse and ride over to the ComitS 
Revoliitionnaire at Versailles ; and that they should 
come and arrest me in the morning. 

The members of Sevres could have arrested me, 
but I dreaded them, as they were as bad as Paris 
for me, and always called me a royalist. I took 
the mayor's wife home with me, and she slept in 
the next room to me — at least for an hour, for 
we had hardly been longer in bed, when there came 


a most dreadful thundering and ringing at my 
gates. My gardener went and let them in. It 
was the Section from Paris, who had been for that 
of Sevres, as Meudon was in the department of 
Seine et Oise, and they could not have taken me 
alone. They made me get up before them and 
the gensd'armes, who were all in my house. They 
searched my things ; upbraided me for making my 
escape, and said, ^^ Ah! ma mignonne voiis ne 
nous echapperez pas this time. You will make a 
good appearance on the Place Louis Quinze. We 
will all go and see you make your exit : it will be 
quite a fine sight." 

While they were sealing, and stealing half my 
clothes, the Comite of Versailles arrived. They 
were furious at those of Paris for having dared to 
come into their department. They also were very 
angry with those of Sevres for joining them with- 
out the leave of those of Versailles. Both were 
for having me, and I anticipated that they were 
going to fight, had not the gensd'armes interposed. 
At last they sent a soldier on horseback to Ver- 
sailles, to one of the deputies of the Convention, 
who was at the head of the department of Seine et 


Oise, to know what to do. He sent a written or- 
der that I should be delivered up that moment to 
the Comite of Versailles, and that I should be taken 
directly to the prison there called the Recollets. 
In short they kept me on my legs the whole day, 
and they drank and cooked their own dinner 
in my rooms, and stayed till nine o'clock at 

From five o'clock in the morning it had been 
and then was, a rainy, nasty day. I was put in 
a cart with some wet straw, and the few things 
which they allowed me to take, with two gens- 
d'armes, four of them also following it. In this 
way we went through the woods to the Comite 
at iVersailles, who sent me to the Recollets. 

When we got to the prison, the gaoler said 
that he had no place prepared for me, and that 
I must stay all night in the guard-room of the 
prison; as there was a bed there, and I might lie 
down. I was wet to the skin, and ill with weep- 
ing all day, and so tired that I could hardly hold 
my head up. The gaoler's wife brought me some 
warm wine and some cold beef and salad. Of 
this I ate something, and drank the wine, drying 


myself at the fire. The guards who were in the 
room were very civil and good. They said that 
they would not smoke in the guard-room, but 
would go and sit out on the stairs all night; and 
that I might safely lie down and sleep, for they 
would allow no creature to come Into the room, 
or to insult me. Accordingly I lay down with 
my damp clothes on, and I slept till seven o'clock. 
I really believe that in the whole course of my life 
I never slept so soundly, though God knows that I 
was not happy; but complete misery had stupefied 

In the morning I was taken into the prison, a 
dreary place; however, it was better than St. 
Pelagic. Here I found no prisoners but felons. 
I was placed in a very large room, which had been 
previously to my arrival occupied by about three 
or four hundred rabbits, and was offensive and 
dirty. I am sure that there was room for at least 
forty beds. In one corner was a miserable truckle- 
bed, with two old chairs and a dirty old table, a 
candle and candlestick, dogs and fire-irons, and a 
fire-place where an ox might have been roasted at 
full length. I had Indeed an immensely large fire, 


which looked comfortable. For the whole time 
I stayed in that prison, I was never refused fire, 
as they were at that time burning all the gates and 
barriers, rails, and green posts which were In the 
woods and parks round Versailles. 

I was now examined and visited by the deputy 
who was commanding in the department of Seine 
et Oise. He was the terror of everybody about 
there ; but I was fortunate enough not to displease 
him In the conversation we had, and ever after I 
found him inclined to treat me better than the 
other prisoners. I was much annoyed at having 
In the next room to me a poor Jew, who was con- 
demned to be executed the following day, for hav- 
ing robbed and murdered a farmer at Rambouillet. 
He made a most terrible lamentation, and cried all 
night, which made me very unhappy. I talked to 
him early In the morning from my grated window, 
exhorting him to trust in God for pardon, and to 
suffer his punishment with resignation. I told him 
that I myself might soon be In a similar situation; 
and that though I had committed no crime which 
merited death, yet I should not complain as he was 
doing. They brought the cart for him at eleven 


o'clock in the morning, and he confessed the crimes, 
and died very penitently. 

This event, and my own cruel situation, brought 
me into so nervous a state the whole day, that I 
knew nobody, nor did I even swallow a bit of 
bread, though I understood that as I had money 
in my pocket I might have anything I pleased to 
eat or drink. About eight o'clock in the evening, 
as I was sitting crying by my fire, the gaoler and 
his wife came into the room with a bed like mine. 
They were kind to me, and said that they were 
happy to tell me that I was going to have a com- 
panion. I asked, who? They said, a very old 
man, and that he was English. I was hurt at the 
idea of having a male companion. 

However, when the poor prisoner came in, I 
found that it was old Dr. Gem, an English physi- 
cian, who had been forty years in France, and 
v/ho was eighty years of age. I was indeed much 
hurt to see a man of his great age entering such a 
wretched place. He was himself much shocked 
and surprised to see me there, as he had heard that 
my fate was soon to be decided. He knew that 
he ran no risk of being murdered; for he was a 


philosopher, and I am sorry to say an atheist. He 
seemed to want much to talk of these subjects to 
me ; but I used to entreat him to leave me in what 
he called ignorance; for religion was my only 
comfort in all the trying, miserable scenes I went 
through. That alone supported me to the last, 
while he, poor man, was in despair at being shut 
out from the world and every comfort. I used 
to try and divert him, and make him laugh. He 
then would burst out into tears, and say, " You 
seem contented and happy, when you may probably 
in a few days be dying on the scaffold; while I, a 
miserable old man, am regretting a few paltry 
comforts." I used to make his bed and clean his 
part of the room, wash his face and hands, and 
mend his stockings; In short, do every office for 
him which his great age and weakness prevented 
him doing himself. 

At that period we were allowed candles till ten 
o'clock, at which time the prison was shut up. 
My old friend used to go to bed at seven o'clock, 
but I remained up till ten o'clock at work. He 
used to get up at four o'clock and uncover the 
wood fire, and light a candle and read Locke and 


Helvetlus till seven o'clock. Then he would come 
to my bedside, and awake me, and many a time 
has he woke me out of a pleasant dream of being 
in England, and with my friends, to find myself 
in a dreary prison expecting my death-warrant 
every time the door opened. 

My old friend frightened me sometimes, as I 
feared that he might die in the night, and the 
gaoler lived at the end of the court. Besides, 
we were barred into our rooms with the felons 
next to us. When Battelier,^^ that was the name 
of the deputy, came, I asked to have an audience 
of him. I told him before all the Comite of Ver- 
sailles, who were there, that this poor old man 
might die suddenly, and asked that he might be 
transferred to some other prison, for that I had 
not strength enough to support so tall a man when 
he was in his fainting fits. I said, moreover, that 
it was cruel to leave me alone with him; and that 
they should allow his old housekeeper to come 
there and take care of him. As he was a Repub- 
lican, I said, I could not conceive why they should 
not let him remain In his own house, with a guard, 
whom he had no objection to pay. 


The deputy said that he thought as I did; and 
that he should leave the prison the next day, and 
be confined at his house at Meudon. I never felt 
more pleasure than in having this good news to 
tell my old friend. After the audience I was con- 
ducted up to my own room, where I found the poor 
doctor in bed fast asleep. For a while I sat and 
watched him. He awoke about ten o'clock, and 
I then told him the good news. He was delighted 
to go home, but he really felt unhappy about me. 
I had procured him his liberty, but mine was only 
to be obtained on the scaffold! He wept much, 
and so did I at parting. He never expected to 
see me again; but, however, we did both live to 
meet again, and I saw him the day before he died. 
He had from the commencement of his imprison- 
ment a great regard and affection for me; and 
when I came out of prison used to walk a mile to 
see me every day. This old gentleman, who was 
well known in the literary world by, I believe, 
some writings, was grand-uncle to Mr. Huskisson, 
Under-Secretary of State. 

Once more I was alone, but only for a very short 
period. The Terror gained ground so fast, that 


the prison was soon filled with unfortunate royal- 
ists, and we were then deprived of every comfort. 
The little money which we had was taken from us, 
and our silver spoon and fork; though, strange to 
say, I got mine back again two years afterwards, 
for when the gaolers took them from us they gave 
us a number, and told us that our things were sent 
with that number to the Hotel de Ville. 

When I got out of prison I was one day looking 
over some papers, and found my number, which 
was 79. My maid offered to go to the Hotel de 
Ville with it, and see what they would say to her. 
On delivering in my number they gave her my 
spoon and fork out of many others, together with 
the money, thimble, scissors, knives, and other 
articles; at which we were much surprised. 

We were now deprived. In short, of every com- 
fort, for we were henceforth fed by the nation. 
The gaoler was allowed about eight pence Eng- 
lish a day for our food, and God knows he did 
not spend six pence. We had for constant food 
boiled haricots, sometimes hot and sometimes cold; 
when hot they were dressed with rancid butter, 
when cold with common oil; we had also bad eggs 


dressed In different ways. A favourite thing was 
raw pickled herrings, of which they gave us quan- 
tities, as the Dutch had sent great quantities of 
them to Paris to pay part of a debt which they 
owed to the Republic. Sometimes we had what 
was called soup and boullll, but we were always 
sick after eating It. Some of the prisoners 
thought that It was human flesh which was given 
us ; but I really think that It was horses' or asses' 
flesh, or dead cows. In short, the poorest beg- 
gars in England would not eat the things which 
we were forced to do. Our bread was made of 
barley, and very dirty, and used to make our 
throats sore. At that time I had a very dan- 
gerous sore throat, and was not able to swallow 
the least thing for three days. I had no gargles, 
no softening things, or even a drop of clean water 
to cool my mouth, though I was In a raging fever. 
No creature who had not been In such a situation 
can Imagine what I suffered. I prayed fervently 
for death. Though I was in a miserable dirty 
truckle-bed, yet I thought that anything was better 
than perishing by the hands of the executioner, 
and being made a show for the horrid crowds 


which followed the poor victims to the scaffold. 
However, without care or comfort I was miserable 
in finding that my throat got better, and at last I 
was restored to perfect health. While I was ill 
my unfortunate female companions were all kind- 
ness to me; they even deprived themselves of the 
little water they could spare for my use. 

Common misfortune had made us sincere, even 
romantic friends, and we were always ready to die 
for one another. The gaoler used to fill for us 
in the morning a wine-bottle full of dirty water, 
and each prisoner had his own. That was to serve 
for the whole day, for the gaolers would not have 
been at the trouble to fill them twice. Sometimes 
we used to get a drop of brandy from the turnkeys, 
who had always a great leather bottle in their 
pocket, and used to offer us a drop out of it. 
However nasty, I found it of great use to me, as I 
always washed my mouth with it, and was one of 
the only prisoners who had not tooth-ache, and 
who indeed did not lose their teeth, from the damp- 
ness of the rooms, which were very large. The 
gaoler who was in that prison when I first went 
there had been dismissed, and one of the Septem- 


brists was now put In his place. From that period 
our life was a scene of agony. Once or twice I 
asked the gaoler for a little warm water to wash 
myself. This he told me would be nonsense ; for 
nothing could save me from the executioner's 
hands, and as they were dirty, it was no use to clean 

I was much shocked one day on going into the 
gaoler's room, where we used sometimes to go 
when we wanted anything. He was sitting at a 
table with a very handsome, smart young man, 
drinking wine. The gaoler told me to sit down, 
and drink a glass too. I did not dare to refuse. 
The young man then said, " Well, I must be off," 
and looked at his watch. The gaoler replied, 
*' No ; your work will not begin till twelve o'clock." 
I looked at the man, and the gaoler said to me, 
" You must make friends with this citizen ; it Is 
young Samson, the executioner, and perhaps It 
may fall to his lot to behead you." I felt quite 
sick, especially when he took hold of my throat 
saying, " It will soon be off your neck. It Is so long 
and small. If I am to despatch you, It will be 
nothing but a squeeze." He was going at that 


moment to execute a poor Vendean prisoner in the 
market-place of Versailles. We had many prison- 
ers taken from our prison to Paris to be tried by 
the Tribunal Rev oliitionn aire, who were all exe- 
cuted. I was in hopes that I should have re- 
mained long at Versailles. 

About the 26th of October the news of the poor 
Queen's execution reached us. Nothing now sur- 
prised us; for we had then been used to nothing 
but horrors. We heard of the Queen's greatness 
and courage with admiration, and we all deter- 
mined to try and imitate so great and good an 
example. All envied her her fate; as indeed we 
did that of every victim when their execution was 
over; but there was something dreadful in being 
dragged through a rabble to a scaffold. 



On the 5th of November I heard of the fate of 
the unfortunate Duke of Orleans. It Is needless 
to say what I felt on that occasion. I was not 
aware that he had been removed from Marseilles 
to Paris till I heard of his death. I know that he 
died with great courage. He was tried, con- 
demned, and executed in the space of two hours ! 
A man-servant of mine by accident met the cart 
in which he was, in the Rue du Roule, near the 
Pont Neuf. He knew that there were con- 
demned people in it, but he was shocked to death 
when he saw the Duke of Orleans in it. My poor 
servant was nearly fainting, but was determined 
to follow the Duke to the scaffold. There was 
very little mob the whole way, though by the time 
they got to the Palais Royal, the Duke's own pal- 
ace, people began to assemble. Till that moment 
no creature had even an idea of the Duke's having 



been tried. Under his own windows they stopped 
him for ten minutes. He looked, my servant since 
told me, very grave, and as he did in former days 
when he was going out on any occasion of cere- 
mony. He was very much powdered, and looked 
very well. His hands were tied behind him, and 
his coat thrown over his shoulders. His coat was 
light grey, with a black collar. When the cart 
moved from the Palais Royal, the Duke looked 
at the mob with a sort of indignation. He did not 
alter in any way, but carried his head very high 
till the cart turned on the Place Louis Quinze; 
then he saw the scaffold before him ; and my man 
said that he turned very pale, but still held up his 
head. Three other prisoners were with him In 
the cart — a Madame de Kolly, a very beautiful 
woman, wife to a farmer-general, a man of the 
name of Coustard, a deputy of the Convention but 
of the Gironde party, and a blacksmith of the name 
of Brouce, for having made a key to save some 
papers. It was nearly four o'clock when the cart 
got to the scaffold, and it was almost dark. 
Therefore, In order that the mob might see the 
Duke's head, he was the first who was executed. 


He leaped up the ladder with great haste, looked 
round at everybody, helped the executioner to undo 
his neckcloth, and did not speak one word or make 
the least resistance. They afterwards held up his 
head to the mob. 

Thus ended the life of a man who will never 
be forgotten, and whose last crime will cause his 
name ever to be remembered with horror ! I dare 
hardly say that he had many amiable qualities, and 
that his horrible fate was brought about by a set 
of ambitious men. As I have previously observed, 
they left him in the hands of men still worse than 
themselves. Unfortunately the Court never al- 
lowed him a chance of getting out of their hands. 
I could say much on this subject; but I should not 
be believed, and the subject always makes me un- 

In the beginning of December, the poor Due 
de Biron suffered death, nearly a month after the 
Duke of Orleans had been executed. I heard that 
he was much affected at his own situation, and 
showed some weakness in his last moments. 

When the seals were taken off the Duke of 
Orleans' papers, which was soon after his death. 


I was closely confined in a dungeon, without even 
being allowed to converse with the other prison- 
ers. I was very uneasy, fearing that the letter 
which I had written to the Duke after the King's 
death might have been found, and that alone would 
have condemned me. However, nothing of mine 
was found, and after three weeks' close confine- 
ment, and living with rats and mice, I was allowed 
to mix with the other prisoners. At that time a 
new deputy named Crasseau came to be at the head 
of the department of Versailles. He was a great 
friend of Robespierre's, and had great powers. 
He came to visit our prison, and said that I seemed 
to have too much luxe, and that I was very much 
perfumed, and therefore was sure that I was a 
royalist. I said, " I certainly was, or I should not 
now be in prison." He said, if I was " I should 
go and join my friends in the Cimetiere de la Ma- 
deleine — that was the only place for royalists." 
I told him that I often wished myself there, or 
anywhere to be out of my misery. He said that 
he " should take care that my wishes should be 
soon accomplished; " adding that " it was indeed 
neglect, in the other deputy not to have sent me 


up to the Tribunal Revolutionnaire before, but 
that he would have justice done, since I owned 
myself a royahst." I said, " Why, I am sure you 
never could doubt that, else I should not have been 
so cruelly used. I suppose you don't imprison the 
republicans. I am certain that if I had been ever 
so good a republican, I should have hated the Re- 
public and have wished its destruction a thousand 
times, for all the misery I had suffered." On 
this he became furious. He said that '' I should 
go to Paris, and that I deserved he should send 
me there that instant; that my name was noted at 
the Comite de Salut Public; and that I should soon 
be brought to the guillotine, for I had been one 
of the agents of D'Orleans for England, and 
wanted either to have made an English prince 
king of France, or D'Orleans. He added that he 
knew *' I had had correspondence with the Prince 
of Wales ; and that I was only fit to be food for 
the mouth of a cannon." 

In short, three weeks after this I was once more 
removed from this prison, to my great grief and 
consternation; and taken at nine o'clock at night, 
just as I was going to bed, to the late Queen's 


stables, where many of the poor people of Nantes 
had just arrived on their road to Paris to be tried. 
They were in a most miserable plight, having been 
marched on foot from Nantes, many of them very 
ill; some dying on the road, it is supposed of the 
gaol distemper. This, however, I doubt, as I 
slept on the same straw with them all night in 
the stables, and though they were full of vermin I 
got nothing dirty from them. This I impute to a 
sweet-scented sachet I always carried in my corset, 
which caused that monster Crasseau to say that I 
was covered with luxury. 

The day after I left the Recollets for the 
Queen's stables, a cart covered over at the top 
like a waggon, with large iron bars at the end, 
was brought into the stable-yard. It was filled 
with straw, and we were put in, as many as it 
would hold. I understood that other carts ar- 
rived afterwards for the other prisoners, who were 
in all above forty, though I was the only prisoner 
from Versailles. Every one of them was taken 
to the Conciergerie but myself. I was taken to 
the Grue of Plessis, a terrible prison; but there 
was no room for me in It. On the next day there* 


fore I was sent to the Carmes In the Rue de Vau- 
girard, a prison notorious for the horrid murders 
committed there on the poor old priests and the 
respectable and good Bishop of Arras. 

I ought to mention that on our road from Ver- 
sailles to Paris, the populace of Sevres pelted us 
through the bars of our waggon with mud, dead 
cats, and old shoes. They were very violent, and 
called us dogs and aristocrats. In short we met 
with ill-usage all the way. I regretted having left 
the Recollets; there at least the air was better than 
in Paris, and many good, respectable people were 
there, such as poor farmers and old labourers, who 
could not make up their minds to the Republic, 
and who had in their own villages expressed too 
freely their abhorrence of the new system. Many 
of these truly good and pious people were executed. 
There were some nobles In the prison also, but few 
of note. When I got to the Carmes I was very 
unwell and tired, very dirty and uncomfortable. 
At the greffier-room of the prison I found General 
Hoche, who had just been sent there. I had not 
known him before, nor had I ever till then sat 
down In a room with any republican officer, and I 


think that had I been at liberty nothing earthly 
could have made me make such an acquaintance. 
He, however, was very kind and civil to me. He 
had long, he said, known me by sight, and was 
sorry to make himself known to me in such a place. 
I said, *' General, if you know me, you cannot 
be surprised to see me here; but I assure you that 
I am much surprised to see you here, for I thought 
you one of the defenders of the Revolution." 
" So I am," said he, " but they seem to forget and 
oppress their real friends; however I hope that I 
shall not stay here long. I have been cruelly slan- 
dered." He asked me, who was in the prison? 
which I did not know, as the greffier had not done 
writing for at least two hours. They brought 
Hoche and me some dinner, very nasty. On ac- 
count of our dismal situation we became after- 
wards very good friends. When we entered the 
prison, Hoche and I found many people whom we 
knew, and many great ladies, who all seemed to 
know him, such as the Duchess D'Aiguillon, Ma- 
dame Lamotte, Madame Beauharnais, now Ma- 
dame Bonaparte, Madame de Custine, and her hus- 
band, who was beheaded three days after I went 


into the Carmes. I knew there also Madame de 
Jarnac, my friend Mrs. Meyler, and Madame de 
D'Aralj. Before we went to bed, we were all as 
good friends as if we had been brought up to- 
gether. Indeed, at every instant we all equally 
expected our death-warrant. They were delight- 
ful women, and bore their misfortunes with cour- 
age and good humour. 

Most of the prisoners, like myself, had little 
reason to hope they would leave the walls of the 
Carmes, but for the scaffold; yet in spite of this 
horrid prospect, I must own that I passed many 
pleasant moments with those very agreeable 
women, who were all full of talent, none more so 
than Madame Beauharnais, now Madame Bona- 
parte. She is one of the most accomplished, good- 
humoured women I ever met with. The only lit- 
tle disputes we had when together were politics, 
she being what was called at the beginning of the 
Revolution constitutional, but she was not in the 
least a Jacobin, for nobody suffered more by the 
Reign of Terror and by Robespierre than she did. 

When I first went into the Carmes I slept in a 
room where we were eighteen in number, and Ma- 


dame Bonaparte, Madame de Custine and I had 
our beds close together, and we have often made 
our beds, and washed the room, for the other 
prisoners did not take much pains about it. Two 
old Frenchmen and their wives slept in our room : 
they were nobles, and virtuous, pious people. I 
ought to say that in none of the prisons unmarried 
men were allowed to sleep on the same side of the 
house with the women. Some who had their rela- 
tions on the women's side, were permitted to come 
to us for an hour or two. 

Madame Beauharnais had been parted for some 
years from her husband, the Marquis Alexandre 
Beauharnais. We were therefore much surprised 
one day to see him come into our room, as a pris- 
oner. His wife and he were both much embar- 
rassed at the circumstance, but in a few hours they 
were perfectly reconciled. A small closet with 
two beds, was granted to them, where they slept 
together. The day of Beauharnais's entrance into 
the prison was a sad day for that beautiful 
little creature Madame de Custine ; for on that 
day her husband, a very handsome young man and 
son to General Comte de Custine, was taken 


out of our prison, tried, and beheaded the next 

I never saw a scene of more misery than the 
parting between this young couple. I really 
thought that she would have dashed her brains 
out. Madame Beauharnais and I did not leave 
her for three days and nights. However, she was 
young, full of spirits, and a Frenchwoman, and at 
the end of six weeks she got into better spirits; so 
much so, indeed, that poor Madame Beauharnais, 
who really seemed to be attached to her husband, 
became very unhappy. I was her confidante, and 
did everything in my power to persuade Beauhar- 
nais to spare his wife's feelings, who had enter- 
tained a sincere friendship for Madame de Cus- 
tine before this event. I am far from supposing 
that any improper connection was formed; but cer- 
tainly Beauharnais was more in love than it is pos- 
sible to describe; and the little woman seemed to 
have no objection to his attentions. 

But, alas! this did not last long; for the Con- 
vention imagined, or pretended to imagine, that 
there was a conspiracy In our prison. We were 
all denounced by Barrere; and they asserted that 


we had laid a plan to set fire to the prison. In 
short, so cruel yet absurd was the accusation, that 
when the Comite du Salut Public sent for fifty pris- 
oners out of our number to be tried for the con- 
spiracy, the gaoler, who was a horrid Jacobin, 
laughed at the soldiers, and said, " A conspiracy ! 
why the prisoners here are all as quiet as lambs." 
However, fifty were led out of our prison to the 
scaffold for that same conspiracy. Amongst the 
number, who were all men, was poor Beauharnais ; 
the Chevalier de Chansenets, brother to him whose 
life I saved; the young Duke de Charost; the 
Prince of Salms; a General Ward, an Irishman in 
the French service, and his servant; and a young 
Englishman of the name of Harrop, who had been 
sent to the Irish college for his education, and 
whose parents had never sent for him home. He 
had been imprudent, and had abused the Republic 
in some coffee-house, in consequence of which he 
was arrested. He was only eighteen years old. 
Two other young men, in going down the prison- 
stairs, which were formed like a well, took hold 
of each other's hands, and leaped down. They 
were dashed to pieces; but as the number was to 


be fifty, they took two other people to make up the 

I never saw such a scene as the parting of 
Beauharnais, his wife, and Madame de Custine. 
I myself was much affected at poor Beauharnais' 
fate, for I had known him many years. He was 
a great friend of the poor Due de Biron, and I 
had passed weeks in the same house with him. 
He was a very pleasant man, though rather a cox- 
comb. He had much talent; and his drawings 
were beautiful. He took a very good likeness of 
me, which he gave poor little Custine when he left 
us. His poor wife was inconsolable for some 
time; but she was a Frenchwoman, and he had 
not been very attentive to her. The other lady 
I never saw smile after his death. 

The whole fifty were executed the next day. 
They came into our ward to take leave of us. I 
knew several of them, and poor Chansenets showed 
great courage, more than his poor brother did with 
me. I took leave of the Prince de Salms, but I 
did not pity him much; he had almost been a 
Jacobin. The Due de Charost was a sort of mad- 
man; he was a descendant of the great Sully, and 


had married Mademoiselle de Sully, who was im- 
mensely rich. Hoche, who was at this period very 
closely confined In a dungeon, we never saw; but 
they allowed him at last to mix with the other 
prisoners, and he was then a great deal on our 
side. He was a very handsome young man, with 
a very military appearance, very good-humoured, 
and very gallant. His father had been body- 
coachman to Louis the Sixteenth, and he himself 
was brought up from an infant in the depot of the 
French Guards. I believe that he was an excellent 
officer, at least I have heard Pichegru say so. 
Hoche was liberated before the death of Robes- 
pierre, and a command was given him. At the 
time he left the prison we had little hopes of es- 
caping from the guillotine. Every day prisoners 
went from our prison to that fatal end, and we 
were almost In despair. 

A poor man and his wife, who used to keep a 
stall for puppets in the Champs Elysees, were 
brought to our prison for having shown a figure 
of Charlotte Corday, which was handsome. 
These poor people were honest, good creatures, 
and though we could do them no good, yet they 

Charlotte Corday 


used to render us every service In their power. 
We were In hopes, as they were poor, that they 
would have escaped; but alas! they were dragged 
also to the terrible scaffold, and we all wept their 
loss sincerely. In short, the scenes became so 
dreadful, that It was impossible to exist much 
longer In such a state of constant woe, to see hus- 
bands forced from their wives' arms, children torn 
from their mothers, their screams and fits, people 
when they could get a knife even cutting their own 
throats! Such were the horrors going on In the 
Carmes, and we expecting, and Indeed being told, 
that every day might be our last. This was what 
I beheve we all wished, yet the Idea of the means 
was dreadful. 

But even In all these moments of distress my 
health was perfect; and God Almighty never for- 
sook me, as I bore my misfortunes with calmness 
and resignation. I found all my comfort In re- 
ligion. We hardly knew anything from out of 
doors, and were often In fear of the mob breaking 
Into the prison, and renewing the scenes of Sep- 
tember — scenes which we could not forget, for 
the walls of our refectory, and even the wooden 


chairs, were still stained with the blood and brains 
of the venerable old priests who had been mur- 
dered there on that horrible day! 

I forgot to mention that General Santerre — 
the same who had conducted the unfortunate King 
to the scaffold, and who had ordered the drums 
to be beat that his august voice might not be heard 
by the people — was also a prisoner In the Carmes. 
He never could live In friendship with me, though 
he was always attentive. Many of our great 
ladles were very Intimate with him, and thought 
him a good-natured, harmless man. He assured 
us all, when we used to abuse him about his con- 
duct on the 2ist of January, that he had orders 
If the King spoke to have all the cannons fired at 
him, and that It was to avoid that measure he had 
acted as he did. He always swore that he re- 
gretted the King's death. This, however, I never 
believed. He was liberated before the death of 
Robespierre, owing, I believe, to his giving our 
gaoler good beer, for he was a brewer. He used 
to send us little trifles for our comfort, and I will 
say that he never lost an opportunity of serving 
us. When he was at liberty he sent me a pound of 


the finest green tea I ever drank, and some sugar. 
He also sent us a pie ; but the gaoler liked that too 
well to give us any of it. 

I was very ungrateful to Santerre, as I never 
saw him but once after I left the prison, and that 
was in coming out of the Opera. I was ashamed 
to be seen speaking to him, though he lived a good 
deal with some of the ladies who had been in 
prison, and whom he really had served, in getting 
them their liberty after the death of Robespierre 
sooner than they otherwise would have done. 

He said that he had never spoken to the Duke 
of Orleans in his life till after the King's death. 
This I readily believe, for the Duke had often de- 
clared to me that he never had spoken to Santerre, 
though he always passed for one of his chief 

[Here the manuscript terminates.] 

After an imprisonment of full eighteen months 
in various places, Mrs. Elliott was again restored 
to liberty. She had been fed during her Incarcera- 
tion upon pickled herrings, at the rate of twopence 
a-day, with one bottle of water for all purposes. 


Her captivity was shared, latterly, with Madame 
Beauharnais, afterwards Madame Bonaparte, and 
also with a notable person, Madame De Fontenaye, 
subsequently Madame Tallien. All three, indeed, 
very narrowly escaped destruction,' for they were 
ordered for execution, and their locks shorn, on the 
very day that France was delivered by Providence 
from the monster Robespierre. On emerging 
from prison she immediately sent for a broker, and 
disposed of such an amount of her property as 
enabled her to pay and discharge her establishment 
of servants, sold her house in Paris to General 
Murat * (afterwards King of Naples), and took 
a cottage at Meudon. Here she lived, subsisting 
on her remaining property, and mixing In the 
higher circles in Paris during the Consulate and 

By the law of France, after the Revolution, It 
became necessary for all resident foreigners to 
adopt a native of the country, to inherit their prop- 
erty. Mrs. Elliott, accordingly, selected the 
daughter of an English groom In the stables of the 

* It was afterwards sold to General Lannes, Due de Monte- 


Duke of Orleans. This young person, who was 
educated by her, had a remarkable talent for music ; 
and inherited whatever property Mrs. Elliott pos- 
sessed at her death. 

Of the great man who filled the world with the 
fame of his conquests, Mrs. Dalrymple Elliott used 
to relate many anecdotes of the period when he 
was comparatively little known. She had even 
received an offer of marriage from him, which, 
however, she rejected. 

On returning to Paris, one day, and paying a 
visit to Madame Beauharnais, she found her under 
the hands of the hair-dresser. On the sofa lay 
a magnificent blue and silver dress. On observing 
it, Mrs. Elliott, in admiration, exclaimed: ^* How 
very charming! And where may you be going 
in this splendid attire, dear?" 

" Oh, stay a few moments," replied Madame 
Beauharnais, who spoke tolerably good English, 
*' till the hair-dresser is gone, and I will tell you 
all about it. Look at that dress : it is from your 
country." She then related to Mrs. Elliott that 
she had been married that morning to General 
Bonaparte, at the Municipality, and that he had 


obtained the command of the army of Italy. She 
had no affection for him, she said, but Barras had 
recommended her to accept him. " How could 
you marry a man with such a horrid name? " said 
Mrs. Elliott. "Why, I thought," rephed Ma- 
dame Beauharnais, " that he might be of service 
to my children. I am going to dine at the Direc- 
tory by-and-by, and shall go a part of the way with 

Mrs. Elliott saw no more of her until after 
Bonaparte became First Consul, when she went to 
the Tuileries. The First Consul, it is known, was 
fond of children. On this occasion Madame 
Bonaparte drew his attention to some beautiful 
children who were walking in the gardens of the 
Tuileries. He inquired *' who they were?" 
" They are the children of an English gentleman, 
Mr. Clarke," was the reply. 

" English! " he exclaimed with bitterness. " I 
wish the earth would open and swallow them up." 

"Well, General," remarked Mrs. Elliott, 
" that is not very gallant to me." 

"Oh!" replied Bonaparte, "I don't consider 
you to be English — you are a Scotchwoman." 


*' Ah! " she rejoined, " I am prouder of being 
an Englishwoman than of anything." 

Bonaparte could not bear to see women with 
uncovered shoulders, which was the fashion in 
Paris at that time. " Make a huge fire," he 
would say, " I am sure the ladies will perish with 

After the conquest of Italy, Barras, who became 
acquainted with the indiscreet conduct of Madame 
Bonaparte in her husband's absence, strongly urged 
her to leave Paris immediately and join him, as- 
suring her that Madame Letitia, the General's 
mother, (who highly disapproved of the marriage 
of the First Consul with Madame Beauharnais,) 
had set out to inform Bonaparte of her intrigue 
with a young officer. She instantly adopted his 
advice, and fortunately for her, arrived before the 
General's mother reached the camp, whose story 
was thus anticipated and discredited. 

At the period of the signing the Treaty of 
Peace at Amiens, in 1801, Lord Malmesbury, the 
British Plenipotentiary, met Mrs. Elliott in society, 
and recommended her to return to England with 
him. Of this opportunity she availed herself, 


travelling under the assumed name of Madame St. 
Maur. For a short time she resided at Brompton, 
at the house of a Mrs. Naylor, where lodgings 
had been procured for her, by her direction, by her 
maid, Madame La Rue. It was during her res- 
idence here, that, one day when she was out shop- 
ping with Mrs. Naylor, her attention was drawn to 
a post-chaise and four by a gentleman thrusting 
out his head and regarding her with fixed atten- 
tion. She soon recognized in the traveller the 
Hon. Charles Wyndham, brother of Lord Egre- 
mont. It afterwards appeared that he was travel- 
ling to Brighton to join a party, at which the Prince 
of Wales was to be present, at the Pavihon, then 
the mansion of the Earl, and subsequently the 
property of the Prince. On his arrival, when the 
party was assembled, he piqued their curiosity as 
to the person he had encountered on his way, 
a lady whom they all knew, and for whom, 
as we have seen, the Prince entertained the 
warmest regard — *' Who do you think the lady 
was?" he said. Having raised their curiosity 
to the highest pitch, at length he said, " One from 
the grave — Mrs. Elliott, even more beautiful 


than ever." The Prince was so delighted at the 
InteUIgence, that he returned that very night to 
town, and sent her a most affectionate letter, beg- 
ging her to go to him. Accordingly, dressed in the 
simplest manner, she went to Carlton House, and 
was received with great warmth by the Prince; 
and their old friendship was renewed. 

Mrs. Elliott remained in England until 18 14, 
when the Bourbon family was restored to the 
throne of France. During the whole period of her 
residence here, from 1801 to 181 4, the lady who 
has kindly contributed much of the information 
here collected resided with her, and she also ac- 
companied her to Paris, and remained with her 
ten weeks. The cruelties and privations which 
Mrs. Elliott had endured during her Iniquitous 
confinement produced a most injurious and lasting 
effect on her constitution. She was long an Invalid, 
and for six months was tenderly nursed by the lady 
here alluded to. 

Mrs. Elliott returned to Paris at the same time 
as the Royal Family of France, to whom restora- 
tion was accompanied with very painful reminis- 
cences. It was with bitter feeling and tears that 


the poor Duchess d'Angouleme regarded this 
event: hers Indeed had been a life of poignant 
grief and troubles! The Due de Bourbon was 
also most unhappy on the occasion. In England 
he said he had lived tranquilly, and was loth to 
leave It. " What do I go to France for," he said, 
'' but to meet the murderers of my son? " 

Mrs. Elliott had the satisfaction of seeing the 
Marquis de Chansenets (whose life she had saved 
at so great a risk of her own) reinstated as Gov- 
ernor of the Tuileries. 

We have referred to her exquisite beauty. Mrs. 
Elliott's daughter, Lady Charles Bentinck, who 
was always very affectionate to her, used to say, 
that on looking round on the brilliant assemblage 
of lovely women to be found in the Opera House 
of London, she saw no one comparable to her 
mother for beauty and elegance of manners. 

The late Duke of Cambridge, on one occasion, 
passing along the Edgeware Road, observed the 
panel of a carriage on which the royal arms were 
quartered, and inquired into the circumstance. He 
afterwards went to Carlton House and mentioned 
what he had learnt; on which the Prince sent an 


intimation that the quartering of the royal arms 
would not be permitted, there being no precedent 
for it since the days of the merry monarch, Charles 

The chequered life of this greatly-admired and 
lovely woman quietly terminated at Ville d'Avray. 
She had witnessed with most intense grief the over- 
throw of the French monarchy, and the cruel mur- 
der of Louis the Sixteenth, but fortunately did not 
survive (it is believed) to see the fresh troubles of 
France in 1830,* which finally terminated in the 
expulsion of the elder branch of the Bourbon 

Thus ended the life of this remarkable woman ; 
at one time cherished by the Princes and nobles of 
the land — at another, the miserable companion of 
nobles and peasants, reduced to one common level 
of wretchedness, expecting one moment to be led 
away to the scaffold, amidst the yells of an infur- 
iated and brutal mob, and at another to perish from 
starvation and neglect. 


*Mrs. Elliott died May 15, 1823. 


1 The domain of Raincy, situated at eleven kilometers from 
Paris, between the forest of Bondy and the road to Meaux, 
had been for twenty years the property of the Due d'Orleans. 
Philippe Egalite's father had purchased it in 1769 from the 
Marquis de Livry, for the sum of one million francs. The 
chateau had been built by Levau in 1650, for Bordier, Sec- 
retary of State and Queen's chancellor. 

In 1874, after many vicissitudes, the domain was sold to 
a limited joint-stock company which divided it into lots and 
the chateau was demolished. 

2 The present Pare Monceau is but a small part of the 
Monceau Gardens, which at that time included the immense 
space between the Rues du Rocher, de Monceau and de 
Courcelles. On this property, which originally was a part 
of the village of Monceau, the Due d'Orleans, then Due de 
Chartres, erected in 1778, a sumptuous residence. It was the 
celebrated architect Carmontelle who had imagined and de- 
signed what was nicknamed " Chartres' Folly," in allusion 
to the enormous sums spent on it by the due. 

The main entrance was then opposite the Beaujon Hos- 
pital, between the present Rues Rembrandt and de Lisbonne. 
The Monceau Gardens, as they were at that period, have 
been described with minute exactness by Thiery, in his Guide 
de Paris. 

3 Mademoiselle Agnes de Cepoy had been married, in 1784, 
to Louis Marie, Comte de Buffon, who became colonel of 
cavalry, and who was the son of the great naturalist. She 
separated from him two years after the debut of her liaison 
with the Due d'Orleans. M. de Buffon obtained a divorce 


222 NOTES 

in 1793 and died on the scaffold the year following. Madame 
de Buffon was likewise arrested and confined in the College 
du Plessis, where she found herself in the company of the 
poet Rocher, Andre Chenier, Sophie de Marigny, the Com- 
tesse de Duras and the celebrated comedienne Montansier. 

All contemporaries do not seem to have shared Miss 
Elliott's prejudices with regard to her. The Comte de la 
Marck, who was an intimate friend of Mirabeau, expresses 
himself as follows: "Monsieur le due d'Orleans was sin- 
cerely loved by Madame de Buffon. She was a person of 
little wit, but possessed much charm and sweetness of char- 
acter. She was incapable of intrigue; she never had the 
will nor the wish to do so. She sacrificed much for M. le 
due d'Orleans by publicly proclaiming her liaison with him; 
for she was banished from society, in which she had always 
lived before. She left her husband and remained with a 
very small fortune. M. le due d'Orleans never added to it. 
She lived in a simple manner on her modest income, in a 
very small house, where I often saw her. She was not 
jealous and never sought to lure M. le due d'Orleans away 
from Madame de Genlis, whom she considered a superior 
woman, apt to give him good advice. I am positive that at 
the beginning of the Revolution, when M. le due d'Orleans 
was in England, he earnestly urged Madame de Buffon to 
leave for America with him, where they would live together. 
She declined the proposition, giving as a pretext that she 
would not be able to survive to the grief caused by the re- 
grets which M. le due d'Orleans might have for having done 
so rash a thing, I am likewise positive that after the mas- 
sacre of Madame de Lamballe and during the King's trial 
she implored the Due d'Orleans to tear himself from the 
evil advice of those who led him and that she then spoke 
to him with much energy and severity." 

* To understand the atrocious circumstances of Foullon's 
death, one must recall the acts through which he had attracted 
to himself a universal hatred. The populace hated him for 

NOTES 223 

his wealth which he had acquired in military supplies in the 
course of the Seven Years' War, for the share he had taken 
in the monopoly which in this year of plentiful crops, was 
the cause of the famine in Paris; the patriotes were aware 
that attached to the War Department during the Three Day 
ministry, he had contributed to the service of repression his 
genuine talents as an organizer, providing all the German 
regiments which surrounded the capital, claiming that only 
one day was necessary to " subdue the Parisians." On the 13th 
of July, he had almost forced from the weak Louis XVI the 
order to fire on the people. And lastly, he had perceived the 
danger in which the intrigues of the Orleanists placed royalty 
and had advised the King to have the Due d'Orleans confined 
in the Bastille and beheaded at once. Imprudent words which 
were fatal to Foullon, for its seems proven that it was the 
habitues of the Palais-Royal, in the due's pay, who kept up 
and guided the people's fury on the Place de Greve. 

After the King's visit to Paris, July 15, which denoted 
the defeat of the policy of repression, Foullon went into 
hiding; he caused the rumor to be circulated that he had 
died of apoplexy, had one of his servants who had died 
opportunely buried under his name with great pomp, and took 
refuge at M. de Sartines'. But his presence being suspected 
by the servants, he betook himself to his estate at Viry. The 
peasants who had suffered through his hardness of heart and 
avarice and who had not been deceived by his ruse, arrested 
him on the threshold of his property; they thrust into his 
mouth a handful of hay with which he wanted, as it was 
said, to feed the people ; about his neck they placed a collar 
of nettles and on his back a sheaf. In this gear, he wended 
his way to Paris. They walked all night; at two o'clock in 
the morning, having reached the Barriere d'ltalie, the cortege 
turns over its prisoner to Acloque, president of one of the 
poorest and most famished districts, that of Saint-Marcel, 
who took him to the Hotel de Ville. It was five o'clock in 
the morning. 

224 NOTES 

The electors, who were in session, placed him under a strong 
guard out of harm's way and had seals put on his papers. 
The meeting of electors, re-assembled at nine o'clock, ordered 
his imprisonment at the Abbaye Prison in the safe-keeping 
of the people and the commander of the national guard, under 
the charge of lese-nation. Foullon was to be transferred 
there at nightfall, so as not to attract attention. But the 
report of his arrest has spread. At noon tumultuous cries 
arise from the Place de I'Hotel de Ville. The multitude 
gathered there asks for the death of Foullon. Lafayette, who 
was visiting the districts, is recalled; Bailly and some of the 
electors known to the multitude go down into the Place to 
speak words of peace to the crowd. Their efforts are in 
vain; the rumor has spread that Foullon, without the knowl- 
edge of the municipality, has escaped. The fury redoubles. 

Foullon, who was confined in the Queen's room, is com- 
pelled to show himself at the window. Shouts of joy arise. 
At the same instant the gates are broken, the doors burst 
open, and the multitude overruns the stairs, the courtyard 
and the main hall of the Hotel de Ville, asking loudly for 
Foullon. • 

Moreau de Saint-Mery, so as to gain time, says that a 
trial is necessary. " Yes," replies the crowd, " let him be 
tried at once and hanged ! " 

A court of justice composed of seven members is con- 
stituted by acclamation. The curates of Saint-Etienne-du- 
Mont and of Saint-Andre-des-Arts, being chosen, decline. 

After these delays, which heap the measure of exasperation, 
Foullon is brought in. He takes his seat on a chair which 
has been placed on a table. He wishes to speak. These 
words are heard : " Respectable Assembly, generous and 
just people ; besides, I am in the midst of my fellow-citizens, 
I fear nothing ! . . ." The excitement has again started 
and with redoubled fury. A few persons with the outward 
appearance of respectability, mingled with the crowd, en- 
courage it. A well-dressed individual addressing the bench, 

NOTES 225 

exclaims angrily: "What need is there of judgment for a 
man who has been judged for thirty years?" 

Three distinct times, Lafayette strives to calm the people. 
He might, perhaps, have succeeded, when a new crowd from 
the Faubourg Saint-Antoine and the Palais-Royal invades the 
hall. The table on which Foullon was is thrown down, when 
Lafayette makes one last effort. " Let him be taken to 
prison ! " he shouts. Foullon crosses the hall without being 
ill treated; but an instant after, seized by many hands, he 
disappears in an eddy of the crowd and suddenly his body is 
seen swinging from one of the lamps opposite the Hotel de 
Ville; the rope having broken twice, it was necessary to 
secure a new one, 

A butcher cuts off the head; it is carried about Paris; it 
is shown to his son-in-law, Bertier, who was to suffer the 
same fate, a few hours after. As to the body, it is exposed 
to view, and the public which files past throws its mite into 
the hat of the assassins. Foullon's remains, wrapped in a 
filthy cloth, were delivered to the turnkey of the Chatelet at 
nine o'clock at night. 

5 It does not seem that Foullon's son-in-law, Bertier de 
Sauvigny, intendant de la generalite of Paris, was so uni- 
versally hated as his father-in-law. Besides, he has had de- 

He was, according to M. de Boislisle (" Memoires sur la 
generalite de Paris," Introduction) a good administrator and 
had made a number of reforms. 

But he had been unable to escape the unpopularity attached 
to his family and to his office ; he was accused of having 
ordered the wheat to be cut, while still green, to serve as 
fodder to the cavalry troops called to Paris, and to have sup- 
plied cartridges not only to the troops, but to those who had 
signified their willingness to assist in the repression intended 
by Foullon. 

A price was therefore set upon his head after July 14. 

6 On October 5, at noon, the King mounted his horse for 

226 NOTES 

a hunt in the woods of Meudon, followed, as usual, by a 
small escort. 

It was believed that there was nothing in the situation to 
make one uneasy. The Queen was at Trianon, at the 
Orangerie. The Assembly, displeased, nervous, irritated by 
the King's delay in sanctioning the decrees of the 4th of 
August, was discussing the veto. The sky was overcast, but 
there was no rain. No one dreamed that tragic events were 
near, when, about two o'clock, a horseman who had come at 
full speed from Paris, came to notify M, de Saint-Priest, 
Minister of the King's household, that Paris was in a state 
of riot, that a mob of 15,000 men and women, armed with 
pikes, knives, guns, dragging cannons and uttering horrible 
threats against the King and specially against the Queen, was 
marching on Versailles. 

M. de Saint-Priest at once informed the Queen and fifteen 
horsemen rushed in all directions to seek the King; mean- 
while troops were being assembled on the Place d'Armes. 

The mob concentrates in the Champs-Elysees ; Stanislas 
Maillard, one of the conquerors of the Bastille, succeeds in 
having the women give up their weapons and all start towards 
Chaillot. On the passage of this strange procession the 
stores are closed, to the rising anger of the crowd, who is 
beginning to be hungry and thirsty. At Sevres, it is with 
great difficulty that Maillard is able to calm the crow4 by 
having some loaves and wine, obtained by threats, distributed. 

They stop at Viroflay. Maillard explains that they must 
affect peaceful airs, shout : " Vive le Roi! " and sing : " Vive 
Henri IV I " and it is to the accompanying noise of royalist 
songs that the procession enters Versailles. In the meantime, 
the Marquis de Cubieres, had rejoined the King on the 
heights of Meudon, and had given him M. de Saint-Priest's 
letter. Louis XVI reads it and mounts his horse without 
saying a word. At this moment, a chevalier de Saint-Louis, 
whom no one had noticed, approaches and says : " Sire, I 
come from the Ecole Militaire; those marching on Versailles 



are only women who are coming to ask for bread. I beg 
Your Majesty not to be afraid." " Sir," replied Louis XVI 
dryly, " I have never been afraid in my life." 

The hunt returned to Versailles by an out-of-the-way road. 

At the Assembly, where the session had been rather lively, 
they were discussing the Declaration of the Rights of Men. 
It was Mirabeau who notified Mounier, the president, of the 
approach of the manifestation. At three o'clock. Target in- 
troduced a committee of fifteen women, led by Maillard. 

Maillard was pale and tired, his clothes were in disorder. 
He made a bad impression on the Assembly. 

In violent terms, he declares that the people have no bread, 
and if it is lacking, it is because of the monopolies. Ro- 
bespierre seconds him. 

The people demand reparation for the insult to the national 
cockade by the gardes du corps at their banquet ; the concen- 
tration of troops about the King causes them anxiety; the 
Flanders regiment recently called to Versailles against the 
wishes of the Assembly, must be sent away; a stop must be 
put to the manoeuvres of the monopolists ; the Assembly must 
therefore send a committee to the King, or else Maillard will 
go himself with the women. With regret, Mounier starts for 
the chateau. 

Louis XVI, having returned to the chateau, found in the 
council chamber his gentlemen and his ministers. Varied 
advice is offered him. M. de Narbonne wished to disperse 
the mob by the use of force, others wished to get the King 
away, or at least the Queen. Louis XVI refuses all this 
advice, and the Queen does not wish to abandon the King. 
Besides, the coaches had been stopped by the people on the 
watch, and were unable to enter the chateau. 

Mounier, who was accompanied by twelve women, was 
ushered in. The King received them with kindness and or- 
dered all the bread to be found in Versailles distributed to 
them. One of the women, Louison Chabry, was so affected 
that she fainted. 

228 NOTES 

Astonished and captivated by Louis XVI's kindly air, they 
left the chateau in an enthusiastic mood. Believing them to 
have been won over by a bribe, the crowd wished to attack 
them : they were obliged to return to the King and secure 
from him a written order against the monopolists. 

While these events were taking place at the chateau, time 
had flown; it was midnight and raining. 

At Paris, the national guard, assembled to protect the Hotel 
de Ville after the departure of the women, wished also to 
march to Versailles. The guard resented the insult to the 
national cockade; the idea of bringing the King back to 
Paris, which had been growing in the capital since the 
month of August, was in great favor there. " General," 
said a corporal, "the people lack bread, misery is at its 
height, the committee on supplies deceives you or is deceived. 
This position cannot last ; there is only one thing to do ; let 
us go to Versailles ! People say that the King is an im- 
becile; we shall place the crown on his son's head, a regency 
will be established and conditions will improve." 

Lafayette mounted his horse and for several hours seemed 
to oppose this movement. But people were becoming ex- 
cited; gangs from the Faubourg Saint-Antoine and from 
the Faubourg Saint-Marceau were invading the square ; it was 
necessary to start. 

Lafayette secures from the Hotel de Ville an order signed 
by two commissaries, and at five in the evening they start. 

The national guard arrived at Versailles about twenty 
minutes of twelve, wet, famished, in disorder. While crossing 
Viroflay, Lafayette had made them swear fidelity to the 
King and to the Constitution. Without losing any time, he 
presented himself before the Assembly, protesting that law 
and order would be respected ; he asked that the King recall 
the Flanders regiment, and that he speak a few words in 
favor of the tricolor cockade. Then he went towards the 
chateau, which he entered alone. When he crossed the CEU- 
de-Bceuf, the courtiers, in dejection, looked at him in silence, 

NOTES 229 

Someone said : " Here comes Cromwell ! " " Sir," replied La- 
fayette, very pale, " Cromwell would not have entered alone." 
Louis XVI received the general with dignity and affability. 
The latter said that the people had sworn love and fidelity 
to the King, and that order would be maintained. The 
Parisians demanded that the King confide the care of his 
person to them ; that he communicate to the Assembly through 
his ministers a report on the food supply of the capital, so 
as to reassure those who were alarmed by the approach of 
winter; that he hasten the work of the Assembly, finally 
that he come and dwell at the Tuileries in accordance with 
the loudly expressed wish of the Parisian population. 

Louis XVI acceded to all of Lafayette's demands, ex- 
cepting to the latter, to which he made an evasive reply. 

Lafayette at once orders to the chateau a battalion of the 
national guards composed of former French guards. 

He then attended to the finding of lodgings for his troops, 
and the sending of patrols through the streets of Versailles. 
/ After Lafayette's departure, Mounier and some deputies 
called upon the King and were well received. He assured 
them that he had no intention of going away. He requested 
them to return to the Assembly. 

These having left, the King had his apartments cleared 
and decided to go to bed. 

Marie-Antoinette was awake. She authorized M. de Fron- 
deville to take a hundred horses, but only if the King's life 
was in danger. 

Madame de Tourzel and the royal children slept on the 
ground-floor. It was agreed that at the first sign of danger 
she was to bring them up to the Queen. Later she received 
an order to bring them up to the King instead. 

Mounier kept the Assembly in session for a few moments : 
then, Lafayette having assured him that order would not be 
disturbed, he dismissed it. 

At that moment, a patrol of national guards, commanded by 
a second-lieutenant, attempted to enter the chateau to make 

230 NOTES 

sure that all was well; being stopped by the watch, they 
broke one of the gates of the Rue des Reservoirs and entered 
the park. . . . 

Lafayette, after having presented himself once more at 
the chateau at three o'clock in the morning, and having 
talked for a time with M. de Montmarin, returned to L'Hotel 
de Noailles, which he had made his headquarters, and threw 
himself fully dressed on a field-bed. 

A half hour after, the chateau was invaded. 

What had happened? 

Simply this : throughout the entire day of the 5th, the gate 
had been kept closed. On the morning of the 6th, the 
former French guards who composed the watch opened it — 
by chance, or at a mysterious password — at half past five, 
as they had been in the habit of doing. 

At this moment single individuals, then numerous groups, 
assemble on the Place d'Armes ; they seem to have no par- 
ticular aim in view; they approach the gates; then seeing 
that they are allowed to do as they will, they enter, some in 
the Cour des Ministres, others in the Cour de la Chapelle, 
whose door was open; then finally into the Cour Royale. 

Soon the conversation becomes animated ; they call one an- 
other's attention to the gardes du corps who, furious, are 
looking down from the windows. The crowd becomes ex- 
cited. A clash is inevitable. A report rings out; a cabinet 
maker, Lheritier, is killed. 

No one knows how this happened. M. Batiffol, who has 
written an excellent study of the October days, claims that 
a man had attempted to climb up the columns which support 
the balcony of the royal chamber; he was shot down with a 
pistol ball. 

M. Mathiez has a different version: the garde du corps, on 
duty at the bottom of the marble stairs, overrun by the crowd, 
instead of calling the national guards to his assistance, fell 
back on his corporal who, to free himself, fired his carbine. 

However that may be, the now enraged crowd invaded the 

NOTES 231 

marble staircase; a garde du corps named Deshuttes, found 
behind a door, was surrounded, disarmed and, in the twinkling 
of an eye, thrown to the ground ; he had hardly fallen when 
a man with a long black beard, named Nicholas Jourdan, a 
rag picker from the Faubourg Saint-Marceau, some say, a 
model, say others, dressed in a costume of antique fashion, 
chops off his head with an axe. 

During that time, the corporals of the guards assemble 
their men at the head of the stairs. One of these, M. 
Miomandre de Sainte-Marie, attempts to parley; he is seized 
by his shoulder-belt, struck and has great trouble to escape. 
The guards, having been unable to fire, barricade themselves 
in the halls. But the door of the great hall is shattered and 
they disperse. One, M. de Varicourt, struck on the head 
with a pike, falls ; he is immediately beheaded by Jourdan. 

The guard Miomandre de Saint-Marie can, however, 
through a partly open door, warn one of the Queen's femme 
de chambre of Her Majesty's danger; surrounded, struck 
from all sides, his devotion almost costs him his life. 

Marie-Antoinette, notified by her maids, rushes half un- 
dressed through the door on the right of her bed, towards 
the King's apartments. 

But she must cross the CEil-de-Bceuf. 

The connecting door is locked on the outside. The maids 
knock, call, tremble at the thought of being rejoined by the 
invaders. At last, two valets open the door and close it im- 
mediately they have entered. The Queen is saved. Mean- 
v/hile, Louis XVI, awakened by the noise, has arisen. 
Realizing the Queen's danger, he descends the little stairway 
which opens on the Cour des Cerfs and reascends by the 
secret passages leading to the Queen's apartments. She was 
no longer there; he returned to his rooms by way of the 

On the ground-floor, Madame de Tourzel, notified by the 
captain of the guards, M. de Saint-Aulaire, carries the 
Dauphin to the King's room, where Madame Elisabeth was 

232 NOTES 

already. Marie-Antoinette herself went after Madame 

In Versailles, the tocsin rings, the national guards as- 
semble. The battalion of Recollets, commanded by Dr. Goud- 
ran, the first to reach the courtyard, charges up the marble 
stairway and clears the Salle des gardes du Roi, which the 
rioters were about to pillage. 

The national guards rush from all sides ; they deliver some 
gardes du corps who were being attacked by the mob, and 
charge the pillagers. At a quarter past five calm had been 

In the meantime the chateau was filling up. 

All those who dwelt there grouped themselves about Louis 
XVI. The royal family is assembled in the Council Room. 
The Dauphin is hungry; he weeps; the Queen is indignant. 

In the Council chamber, the King, surrounded by his 
ministers, receives Lafayette. He advises Louis XVI to 
show himself to the people and to speak to them so as to 
quiet them. Lafayette himself appears on the balcony; he 
beseeches the people to be calm, to leave the disturbers whose 
excesses dishonor and compromise the Revolution. 

Suddenly a voice arises: "Let the Queen appear on the 
balcony ! " At the entreaty of Lafayette, she comes for- 
ward, the Dauphin and Madame Royale on either side. 

But shouts arise : " No children ! " 

She quickly pushes her children away and stands alone and 
unmoved, face to face with the mob. 

Before this proud attitude, applause breaks out; fury gives 
way to enthusiasm. Even the gardes du corps are cheered; 
they appear on the balcony; they exchange their shoulder- 
belts and hats for the bonnets of the grenadiers of the na- 
tional guards. 

But from the crowd comes the cry: "Let the King come 
to Paris ! " This had been the main topic of conversation 
throughout the day. Many said that their day would be 



wasted did they not bring Louis XVI back to the Tuile- 
ries. . . . 

The cries of the mob brought on Louis XVI a state of 
amazement hard to describe. 

M. de Saint-Priest approached him and advised him to 
accept. All delay was useless ; it was the best way to get rid 
of those bandits. 

" Ah, Monsieur de Saint-Priest," said the Queen, " why did 
we not go last night ! " 

" It is not my fault," he replied. 

" I know it ! " 

(Memoires de Saint-Priest). 

About eleven o'clock, the clamors becoming louder, Louis 
XVI came to a decision. He appeared on the balcony and 

"My friends, I shall go to Paris with my wife and chil- 
dren; it is to the love of my good and faithful subjects that 
I confide that which is most precious to me . . ." 

Applause broke out. 

The deputies who were present at the chateau proposed to 
have the Assembly meet in the Salon d'Hercule. 

But Mirabeau refused to allow the Assembly to deliberate 
in the palace of the Kings. It was decided to send to the 
chateau a committee composed of twelve members led by 
the Abbe d'Eymar, who soon reported the King's resolution 
to return to Paris, and to transfer the Assembly to that 
city. The remainder of the day was taken up in preparing 
for the departure. As the people were becoming impatient 
only the absolutely necessary things were taken. 

At one o'clock, Louis XVI entered his coach with the 
Queen and their children. 

Madame Elisabeth and Madame de Tourzel accompanied 

On either side of the coach were Lafayette and the 
Comte d'Estaing on horseback. 

234 NOTES 

The national guards marched ahead, without order; then 
came the women, the men with pikes, the soldiers of the 
Flanders regiment, the hundred Swiss, the dragoons, and 
last came the royal coach. 

The women sang at the top of their voices, jumping, 
waving branches decked with ribbons, and repeating the well 
known refrain : " We are bringing back the baker, the baker's 
wife and the little baker boy ! " 

Carts laden with wheat and flour, met on the way and 
brought back to Paris by force, followed, ornamented with 

And behind these, closing up the march, came the gardes 
du corps unarmed, bare-headed or wearing the bonnets of the 
national guards. 

At six o'clock in the evening, in the fog, in weather sombre, 
cold and rainy, the procession entered Paris, 

"^ Due d'Arenberg, Louis-Englebert d'Arenberg, d'Arschot 
and de Croy (1750-1820), was a brother of the Comte de la 
Marck, the intimate friend of Mirabeau. 

8 William Gardiner (1748-1805) was in Belgium as Envoy- 
extraordinary from Great Britain since the month of De- 
cember, 1789. He left Brussels at the beginning of the year 
1792. He died in 1805. 

^ Lord Gower was appointed English Ambassador to Paris 
in 1790. 

10 Spa was one of the centers of what Forneron called 
V emigration joyeuse. "There had withdrawn,'* says Forne- 
ron, " the Princesse de Lamballe with Mesdames de Lage and 
de Ginestons. She had there made the acquaintance of the 
beautiful Georgina, Duchess of Devonshire, at whose house 
at Spa, assembled Mr. Crawford, an English colonel, the 
Lavals, the Luxembourgs * dancing merrily while their chateaux 
were being plundered ! ' " The Princesse de Lamballe re- 
turned to France on the advice of her father, the Due de 
Penthievre. Everyone knows what her end was to be. 

When Miss Elliott reached Spa, Belgium was the center 

NOTES 235 

of emigration; the Comte de Provence, who had left France 
by way of the North, had been able, thanks to the devotion 
of his friend D'Avaray, to escape the dangers which threatened 
him, and take refuge in Brussels. The Comte d'Artois had 
gone to meet him there with Calonne and Breteuil. 

11 The minutes of the meetings of the revolutionary munici- 
pality of Meudon are yet to be published. M. de Grouchy, 
in his article on Chateaux of Meudon, Bellevue and Chaville 
(Revue de I'Histoire de Paris, Volume XX) has made use 
of the matter which relates to the chateau, but it is Miss 
Elliott who best shows us what a small commune in the en- 
virons of Paris was during the Revolution. We see at least 
that former servants and purveyors of the chateau, having 
become municipal officials, were not, in direct opposition to 
what happened elsewhere, and notably at Versailles, very 
terrible demagogues, and that they knew how to respect the 
beau monde. 

12 La Chronique Parisienne informs us that "Evenements 
Imprevus " was played July 18, 1792, on the stage of the 
Theatre Italien. This play was not in the repertoire; the 
fashionable play of the Theatre Italien was at that time 
" Romeo et Juliette or Love in death/' which had been 
produced for the first time in the first days of July. 

13 Louis Pierre de Champcenets was born in 1748. He was 
a captain of dragoons when he was appointed Governor of 
the Tuileries in November, 1789, shortly after the King's re- 
turn; his father, Jean Frangois de Richebourg, Marquis de 
Champcenets, had already held that post. 

Without intending to repeat here the events of the loth 
of August, we shall call attention to what extent the decrees 
of the Assembly and the lack of foresight on the part of 
the court had made the task of the defenders of the Tuileries 
difficult. The constitutional guard, which took the place of 
the former King's household, dissolved by a decree of the 
Assembly, had not been replaced; the King continued the 
pay of the former guards, believing, no doubt, that he was 

236 NOTES 

keeping to himself, without arousing the suspicions of the 
Assembly, a body of devoted servants. 

There were Swiss attached to the service of the chateau, 
but the court, when planning to send the King to Normandy, 
had sent one of its battalions in the direction of Rouen to 
watch over the coming in of grain. Therefore, there were 
left about 800 men, garrisoned at Courbevoie, and about an 
equal number of nobles devoted to the royal family. The 
other troops, mounted police, or national guard, were under 
the authority of the governor of the chateau only while on 
duty. The national guards, the gunners, the mounted police 
which assured order in Paris, and which defended the ap- 
proaches to the Tuileries, were under the orders of Mandat. 
His tragic end rendered useless the clever arrangements he 
had made. It was therefore the Swiss and the devoted fol- 
lowers grouped in the interior of the chateau and led by 
Champcenets, who bore the brunt of the fight; the terrible 
losses sustained by the besiegers proved that they did their 
duty with courage and intelligence. Champcenets took refuge 
in England after the dramatic incidents related by Miss 
Elliott; he remained there until his death. 

^* Huskisson (1770-1830). He became private secretary 
to Lord Gower in 1790. 

15 M. Albert Terrade, who has been fortunate enough to 
secure the testimony of a witness, has published in the 
" Memoires de la Societe historique de Versailles," a most 
realistic account of the memorable meeting at which the Due 
d'Orleans voted the King's death. 

M. Fosse-Darcosse, who lived to a very advanced age, re- 
tained a most accurate recollection of that day. Almost a 
child he had mingled with the crowd which, as early as the 
15th January, surrounded the Manege, and had succeeded 
on the i6th in slipping into one of the galleries. His heart 
filled with emotion, he witnessed that permanent sitting which, 
begun at 8 o'clock at night, did not end until thirty-six hours 
later. The presence of so many patriots was easily explained, 

NOTES "2^ 

it was the time when the Convention was voting on the 3rd 
question of the King's trial. 

" What penahy shall be inflicted on Louis ? " 

The roll call began and hour after hour deputy followed 
deputy to the platform, uttering the single word: "Death! 
Death ! " Only a few, Robespierre, Couthon, Barbaroux, 
Danton, explained their votes. A feeling of lassitude was 
creeping over the galleries when Philippe Egalite was 
called. At this name, silence became general, and even the 
Knitters interrupted their work for an instant. Philippe 
Egalite slowly mounted the steps of the platform and said : 

"Solely influenced by a sense of duty, convinced that all 
those who have attacked or will attack the sovereignty of 
the people deserve death, I vote for death." 

There was an interval of frigid silence made up of stupe- 
faction and disgust, then suddenly, all the people in the 
galleries who had come to ask for the head of Louis XVI, 
broke out in insults, and it was amidst hoots and hisses that 
Egalite resumed his seat in the Assembly. 

16 The family of Ollivier de Senozan, which possessed in 
the eighteenth century the comte and the marquisat of Rosny, 
was a family of eminent magistrates allied to the greatest 
names of the ancient aristocracy. President Ollivier de 
Senozan through his marriage with a Lamoignon de Males- 
herbes, left at his death in 1740, a daughter married to 
Prince Tuigry-Montmorency and two sons, the elder of which 
died at 22 years of age. It is the wife of the second son, 
Jean Frangois Ferdinand Ollivier de Senozan de TauHgnan, 
who was for a short time mixed up in the life of Miss 

i'' The English edition bears the name Milor, which is an 
error. It is Milon, not master of the ballet, but a simple 
supernumerary in the ballet of the Opera, who is in question. 

As to Bigottini, who descended no doubt from the former 
Arlequin of the Comedie Italienne, she also was a super- 
numerary in the dances. It is only in 1790 that Milon and 


Bigottini dwelt together at No. 170 Faubourg Saint-Martin, 
where they lived until 1792, at which time Milon left the 
Opera. They then came to settle in the Faubourg du Temple, 
near the old gate, thus not too far from the Opera, where 
Bigottini was still appearing in 1794. 

18 Deputy from Marne at the Convention, Jean Cesar Bat- 
telier was mayor of Vitry-le-Frangois, his native town, when 
he was elected. After having been identified on the side 
of the Montagne, he succeeded in being forgotten at the 
time of the Thermidor proscriptions, was commissary of the 
Directory in the Marne Department and concluding a final 
evolution, died Imperial Prosecutor in 1808. 

m I 

One copy del. to Oat. Div.